


Heads and Hearts

by barddoc1992



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Shepard, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Garrus is a Great Best Friend, Rating Will Change Later in Story, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 18:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10996257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barddoc1992/pseuds/barddoc1992
Summary: Set during ME2. Morgan Shepard is an infiltrator with a temper who has trouble letting others close. She has a few good friends--like Garrus Vakarian--but she's resigned to the fact that she's just not good at deeper connections. And then she meets Thane Krios. She slowly finds herself liking, respecting, trusting...and then falling. She just isn't at all sure whether the drell assassin could possibly feel the same way about her. Her buddy Garrus decides to give things a nudge.





	1. The Idiosyncratic Infiltrator

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard hates paperwork, petty arguments, and heavy furniture. She doesn't care much for Cerberus, either. But she finds talking to her hamster and fish helps a lot with anger management.

Morgan Shepard hated bureaucracy. Hated it with a passion. She detested the sheer tedium it represented, with its endless organizational tasks, finicky rules and regulations, and constant stream of “must be done NOW!” deadlines. And her hatred included the administrative datapads that kept appearing in her office. She glared at the stack on her work desk and complained to her hamster, “After more than two centuries in space, why does humanity still rely on these stupid screens of death-by-boredom??” The little creature darted out of his house and squeaked a supportive “Meep!”

“You’d think having a yeoman would mean fewer of these nasties,” she protested, expanding her audience to include her fish. “But no! Now I just have an extra person to bug me about keeping up with them!” The fish wisely did not respond. Shepard hit the button to feed them anyway.

“Whatever corners Cerberus might cut regarding morality and ethics, they certainly make up for when it comes to documentation. And now with Kelly and Miranda both on my ass… . Damn,” she paused, pinching the bridge of her nose as her tirade petered out. She did not look forward to the headache she knew was coming.

“Well,” she huffed, “might as well get started. ‘The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.’ Do you know that one, Meep? Fish? Ah, well. Poor Confucius gets no love.”

The top datapad was the biweekly weapons requisition order from Jacob, listing various supplies required to keep the armory well stocked. But before getting to the numbers of needed replacement parts, mods, and thermal clips, he included yet another gripe about Garrus:

_YOUR TURIAN FRIEND continues to insist on caring for his own weapons by using supplies from MY stock. That’s FINE. I can understand a soldier going that route as long as he knows what he’s doing, and I’ll admit Vakarian does. BUT, he needs to stop BYPASSING my security with his tech skills and start ASKING for those supplies rather than just TAKING them. Otherwise, it leaves me with NO paper trail and INACCURATE inventory. He also needs to STOP ordering the new high-end mods he wants THROUGH YOU and go through MY supply chain like our procurement process requires. Because NOW he’s even got OTHER CREW going to HIM for upgrades! Soon I won’t have ANY IDEA what supplies we need or whose weapons have what capabilities, which UNDERMINES my ability to do MY JOB. A CLEAR LINE needs to be drawn here and soon. AM I OR AM I NOT THE ARMORY OFFICER FOR THIS SHIP??_

Shepard could almost feel Jacob’s irritation leaping off the datapad. She didn’t have to wade through hours of administrative crap after all; the headache had already arrived. She slammed his request down on her desk.

“Damn, Jacob,” she muttered. “The stick up your ass is even bigger than the one Garrus used to have.” She paced from hamster cage to fish tank and back. “And your BOSS gave you that job, not me, you xenophobic, Mышца головы, Cerberus jerk. Is féidir leat an dá póg mo thóin.”

Jacob did hold the position of armory officer, assigned when the Illusive Man placed him aboard Cerberus’s new version of _Normandy_. But Garrus was an unquestioned genius with weapons, especially when it came to individual tailoring for peak performance. She herself preferred to go to her old friend for help—he was the only person besides herself and maybe Thane that she trusted to touch her sniper rifle—though she hoped Jacob didn’t know that.

But at that moment, she could have cheerfully strangled her best friend. “Garrus,” she groaned, “don’t you remember our conversation about staying under Jacob’s radar on this?”

And then she noticed the next datapad, right under Jacob’s requisition form. It was from her turian buddy, doing a complete end run around Jacob and formally requesting various armory supplies for his own use. Judging by the items and quantities he was ordering, he was likely modding and upgrading for quite a few crewmembers besides himself and her.

“Shit, shit, fuckity FUCK!” she erupted. “I am going to mangle your freaky raptor body, Garrus! I KNOW you know what ‘under the radar’ means, and this isn’t it! And damn it, you know better than to jump the chain of command! Now what the hell am I supposed to do with you and Jacob?  God, give me a Reaper shooting at me rather than this petty, personnel bullshit!”

Part of her difficulty solving the problem was that she understood the motivations behind Garrus’s behavior. They shared a core-deep hatred for all things Cerberus after some nasty run-ins with the group a few years back, and he liked to throw metaphorical wrenches into the organization’s gears whenever possible. It was his way of declaring, “Shepard and I might be working WITH you, but we are damn well not working FOR you and certainly will never be one OF you!”

And she needed that reminder from him, trapped as she was working with a man she considered a terrorist. She needed to know her friend would always have her back as she navigated the murky waters surrounding the Illusive Man, his sketchy data collection methods, and his God-knows-how-many hidden agendas. But as much as she might agree with Garrus’s sentiments and admire his integrity, she knew she couldn’t command a Cerberus vessel and a mostly Cerberus crew amid such open distrust and dislike. And that meant reining in her own hostility as well as his.

“Oh, Garrus,” she protested, picking up both datapads. “I can’t let you maintain a competing armory. Jacob has a point about staying on top of weapon capabilities. And I need to somehow unify this squad, not watch it fracture. What the fuck do you expect me to do here?”

Temples throbbing, the first human Spectre forced deep breaths in and out and fought down the urge to kill some of her crew. Meep and the fish stayed silent. She appreciated their restraint; at least some of her friends weren’t trying to piss her off.

For a long moment, she entertained visions of pitting the ex-Alliance marine and the former vigilante against each other in various sparring scenarios, including a literal pissing contest. Eventually, laughter won out over her anger. “‘Lord, what fool these mortals be!’ We’re all idiots, aren’t we, Meep?” Her hamster gave an enthusiastic squeak in agreement.

But she was still left with two conflicting armory requisition orders, one in each hand. _What to do, what to do?_ She idly began juggling the datapads, tossing each into the air in turn while making her way down into her living quarters. A sudden giggle escaped when her mind dug up a childhood rhyme she hadn’t thought of in ages: “Eenie, meenie, miney, moe… . ”

“What language are you speaking, Shepard?” EDI asked.

She jerked, datapads flying through the air to land wherever. After two and a half months on the SR-2, _Normandy_ ’s resident AI still managed to startle her.

The soothing computer voice continued, “Your personnel record states that you speak six Earth-specific and three non-human languages and read at least six more, but I do not recognize that particular one.” 

“EDI,” she reprimanded, “I’ve asked you not to sneak up on me like that.”

“Shepard, I do not ‘sneak’ anywhere, as I am always present.”

“Not a good time to remind me of that, EDI,” she sighed. “And I wasn’t speaking an unknown language, just repeating a human, childhood, nonsense rhyme. By the way, did you see where the datapads went?”

“Searching. Ah, a rhyme to assist one in making a difficult choice. Interesting. But why would an accomplished Alliance commander need to rely on such—”

“Not now, EDI. Datapads?”

“Visual sensors show that the datapad from Officer Vakarian is on the floor by the coffee table corner nearest you. The datapad from Operative Taylor is lying on top of the couch back, near the corner and almost touching the wall.”

“Thank you, EDI. That will be all.” After a brief pause, she rushed on, “And I’m sorry I was short with you.” 

“You are welcome. And while unnecessary, your apology is appreciated.” EDI finished in a quieter, almost sad tone, “Logging you out.”

Shepard ran her hands through her hair and wondered when she had started thinking of EDI as a crewmember with emotions. Deciding to save those philosophical gymnastics until later, she picked up Garrus’s requisition order. Then she shifted over to get Jacob’s where the two sections of the L-shaped couch met in a ninety-degree angle. 

She tried to grab his datapad while keeping her feet on the floor and reaching over the couch, but she lost her balance a little as she leaned forward. Her fingertips made glancing contact with the thin rectangle just before it skidded away. She watched helplessly as it slid down into a crack between the couch and the wall that she would have sworn moments earlier did not exist.

She stared at the spot where the stupid plastic…thing…had vanished, but it refused to magically reappear. Then she looked at the very large and heavy couch. And she noticed how perfectly it was wedged into that corner of her living quarters, as if the stairs and the half-wall of her office space had been put into place after the huge couch was moved in.

“Fuck it all to HELL!” she yelled in frustration. “I hate you, Jacob Taylor. And you, Garrus Vakarian! And EDI…—never mind, EDI, I’m not really mad at you.”

“Thank you, Shepard.”

“I thought you’d logged me out?” she challenged.

“Twenty-two seconds ago, your vital signs rapidly escalated. Do you require assistance?”

“No, I’ve got this. Though, if you stay logged in, you’ll get to hear even more interesting vocabulary while my vitals continue to spike,” she snarked. “I’ll let you know if I need help, EDI.”

“Logging you out.”

Shepard’s temper flared up again as she stared at the couch and formulated a plan. Maybe, since Jacob could yell at his commander about her best friend through a datapad, she could act like she hadn’t actually received his required request form? Then she could reprimand him for missing the deadline to order mission-necessary supplies. She could make hated bureaucracy work FOR her!

Hmm, putting Jacob on the spot like that would be amusing…and then she recalled how he’d personally hand-delivered this requisition order. He’d given it to her yesterday during breakfast instead of passing it through Kelly. There was no way to deflect the blame for the missing request form onto him or Kelly—may the cheerful yeoman forgive her for even thinking of it. Shepard sighed as she admitted that her flashes of anger just didn’t translate well into premeditated revenge.

That left her no choice but to recover the pain-in-the-ass datapad. And since one of her personal rules for successful leadership was to avoid explaining her own idiotic behavior to her crew, she had to fetch the damn thing by herself.

Well, maybe she should reconsider that. Asking Garrus to help seemed only fair. Unfortunately, even if he pretended to be nice about it, he would get far too much amusement out of the situation for her comfort. She wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks. So, no Garrus.  

Grunt seemed a logical choice, given his strength. And they got along well, in a weird mother/son kind of way. But the adolescent krogan was still figuring out his relationship to the “great Commander Shepard”—a human both smaller and weaker than he was but still somehow his leader. Requesting an assist for something this silly might diminish her authority. So, no Grunt. 

Maybe Kasumi? The thief was about as small as the commander herself and wouldn’t be able to help much. And though she was unfailingly kind, she was also a bit of a gossip. Oh, and she had that thing for Jacob. She’d probably rat Shepard out just for an excuse to talk to him. So, no Kasumi.

As for all her other team members, the “don’t let them see you being stupid” rule still applied, even after weeks of working together. She just didn’t yet feel comfortable enough with any of them to waive it. She was glad to have Garrus and Joker back, of course, but during times like this she really missed the rest of her close friends—Tali, Liara, and Wrex. Not knowing how they were doing bothered her. She even still worried about Kaidan and his headaches, despite how things went on Horizon.

Perhaps Thane? Though the newest recruit, she already felt a surprisingly strong connection with the philosophical assassin. She knew he would never make fun of her if she asked for his help, though his lips might quirk a bit into that half-smile she liked. They would have to converse, of course, and Shepard felt a little thrill every time she heard his voice. It was like raw silk, rough and textured but still somehow…smooth. Inviting. She swore she could actually FEEL his words during her visits to life support. She closed her eyes and just stood for a moment, lost in recollection and sensation.

A small shiver shot down her spine. Her eyes popped open in surprise—that reaction was new.

She shook off her reverie with an effort. She’d learned from reading up on drell and watching Thane in combat that his people were quite strong despite their deceptively lean builds. He could probably move the couch by himself with little effort; she could just stand back and watch. Yes, watching sounded good. He might actually take that coat off, and… .

Her cheeks flushed hot. What was she thinking? No, asking Thane was definitely not a good idea. She enjoyed their developing friendship, intellectual exchanges, and amusing quotation game too much to risk gawking at him. He’d assume she was no better than Jack and Kelly. That pair could write the book _How to Study Drell Physique_ with the way they ogled him whenever they got the chance. Plus, that sudden shiver was…unsettling. So, sadly, no Thane.

Okay, back to square one. Moving the couch toward the fish tank was a no-go from the outset; the end of the couch butted up against the stairs that divided the office from her living quarters. So that meant pulling the huge thing away from the half-wall and toward the bed. She had just enough space to play with between the end of the couch and her “personal” desk.

After shifting the coffee table and lounge chair out of the way, taking a few deep breaths, and wondering why Cerberus thought she might need two desks, she slipped her hands under the front edge of the couch near the corner and pulled hard. Nothing. “Ah, merde. C’était piteux, Morgan.”

“Okay, let’s try that again, you useless marine,” she lectured, using her best imitation of her least-favorite N7 trainer. “My sainted grandmother can pull harder than that! Let’s see those goddamn gene therapy upgrades do some work! Pull, pull, puuull!!”

That got her forehead damp but netted her only about two inches of movement. She wiped her hands on her comfy workout shorts and got in position for another try. She glanced at Meep and her fish; she knew they were rooting for her.

“Now to bring out the big guns. Ready, set, pull…pull…Puck, Puck, PUCK, PUCK, PUUUUUCK!!” Yes! That did it—now she had about eight or nine inches of space between the couch and the wall.

“More childhood nonsense words, Shepard?” EDI asked.

She stood bent with her hands on her knees, sucking in deep breaths and letting the sweat drip down her face and neck into her tank top. “Not nonsense… . Favorite character…in an Earth play…from the 1590s,” she panted.

“Searching. _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ by William Shakespeare. Puck is a male fairy in service to Oberon, king of the fairies. But why use that name in this context?”

She was now pretty sure her heart was going to stay in her chest, but her breathing was still ragged. “It was one…of my favorite things…to read…back on Mindoir…before…well, before.” She paused to look over her shoulder at a framed picture near her bed. She straightened and clasped her hands, tangling her fingers like she was tying them in knots.

“Anyway…Mom didn’t like it when I swore like Dad. So when she was listening…and I was really mad…I’d say ‘Puck’ instead of ‘fuck’…or some other word she’d declared forbidden. God, she laughed so hard the first time she heard me use it.” Her expression shifted into a bittersweet smile. Good memories of her family were precious.

“A human idiosyncrasy then,” EDI stated.

“Yes, EDI, one of my idiosyncrasies,” she confirmed. “I’m sure you’ll discover many others as you get to know me better.”

“I am already compiling a list of Mr. Moreau’s idiosyncrasies. I will begin one for you.”

“Thanks, EDI. Um, do me a favor and don’t mention those lists to anyone else? Ever?”

“Yes, Shepard. Logging you out.”

She turned back to the couch and eyed the narrow gap between it and the wall. Time to get that damn datapad. 

* * *

**Notes:**

“Mышца головы” is Russian for, roughly, “muscle-headed” 

“Is féidir leat an dá póg mo thóin” is Irish for “You can both kiss my ass.” 

“Ah, merde. C’était piteux, Morgan” is French for “Ah, shit. That was pitiful, Morgan.”

**Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


	2. The Disciplined Drell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thane Krios pays his first visit to Shepard's quarters and finds her in a...compromising position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

Thane stepped off the elevator outside Shepard’s quarters. He felt…uneasy about this task for Garrus but was unsure why. The datapad he carried was apt to cause a stir. Recent tensions among the crew were a sufficient indicator of that. Yet he sensed this fact alone didn’t explain his apprehension. The drell began to pace the short hallway in search of an explanation. 

Since joining Shepard and her team a month ago, his integration into the crew had gone well. She continued to select him for a variety of missions, and he felt confident she was pleased with his performance. Despite his initial hesitation about working as part of a group, they established a battle rapport with ease. The camaraderie they developed under fire had even led to numerous late-night conversations. Their discussion topics were often solemn in nature, but Shepard brought light and humor into the most complex issues. Indeed, Thane couldn’t remember smiling so much in years. Perhaps as long as…a decade. Those in Citadel space knew Commander Shepard as a gifted infiltrator and leader, but he found he respected her bright mind and wide-ranging interests as much as her combat expertise. He…enjoyed her company. 

Which is why he should be pleased at this opportunity. Thus far, Shepard had always sought him out in his quarters. He should welcome the chance to return the gesture. 

Was this a concern over propriety? Despite their developing friendship, he didn’t want to intrude. Yet Shepard had informed him when he first came aboard that she cared little for formalities. Instead, she maintained an “open door” policy. Anyone who needed to speak with her could leave a message with Yeoman Chambers or visit her quarters. 

Propriety should not be an issue, but his discomfort did not abate.

He considered the time but quickly dismissed the idea. Shepard tried to discourage early-morning and late-night visits, yet in practice she never balked at a request regardless of the hour. The crew honored only one exception to this complete access: a two-hour break the commander claimed after every combat operation. Everyone on the ship agreed that she more than earned this brief reprieve. Not that it could be considered “free time”—she always had tasks to accomplish.

She sometimes needed to visit med bay for treatment or to check on an injured squad mate. Then came tending to her armor and weapons, a post-mission necessity they often performed side by side in the armory. She usually showered next, judging by her still-damp hair when she arrived at the mess for a quick meal. Writing up the mission report required a full stomach, she’d once mentioned, admitting she hated the bureaucratic chore. With the paperwork complete, she might have a few moments to reflect upon the day and relax. Such moments were essential, Thane believed. He disliked how often duty denied her even that small respite. 

 _It’s no wonder our chats occur late in the evening,_ he considered. _Only when most of the crew is asleep can she call her time her own._ One corner of his mouth pulled into a half-smile. That she chose to share some of her rare personal time with him…pleased him.

For the past week _Normandy_ had been making its way toward the galactic rim, pausing often to perform routine activities. Garrus mentioned that the eventual goal was the planet Haestrom. There they were to retrieve another former crewmate of Shepard’s from the SR-1: a quarian engineer by the name of Tali’Zorah. Thane tended to use these days of travel as an opportunity to wander the ship.

Today he concluded his walk with a visit to the main battery, where he listened to Garrus’s stories about the original _Normandy_ in between discussions of weapon upgrades. To Thane’s surprise, the turian paused a bit awkwardly before he left and asked a favor: to hand carry a datapad to Shepard. 

_Garrus passes the datapad, discomfort clear in his subharmonic trills and his fidgets. “It’s… um… just a late addition to my usual order. Not a big deal.” He no longer leans against his workstation. Paces instead. Looks everywhere but at me. “Shepard’ll be thankful for the interruption, believe me. And, um, since you’re the newest recruit, she’ll probably say ‘yes’ to that new mod for your Viper.” Standing still, he resumes eye contact. “You know Shepard likes her people to feel welcome and well-equipped.”_

Thane saw through the ruse immediately—Garrus lacked skill in the art of subterfuge. He knew the turian was engaged in a turf war with Operative Taylor over the armory, and Thane imagined Shepard was quite irritated with both of them. Garrus clearly wanted to score another point in his battle against Cerberus…without risking the commander’s temper. Thane believed the turian wanted him to acquire the upgrade, but he also realized what a coup Shepard’s approval—if she gave it—would mean to Garrus’s feud with Taylor.   

And yet, despite the risk of being drawn into the dispute, he agreed to perform the favor. Because…well, because of Shepard. During one of their talks, she had mentioned his self-imposed isolation. He should integrate more fully with the crew, she suggested, as part of learning to work with a team. He agreed her concern was valid. He’d indeed spent many years alone.

Upon taking her advice, he soon realized the benefits wouldn’t be restricted to the battlefield. His camaraderie with Garrus started to develop into a true friendship. He also found enjoyment conversing with Kasumi, who shared his love of reading. Samara’s life experiences were particularly fascinating, and he looked forward to learning more about her justicar code. 

He also suspected his actions could help alleviate the hostility between Cerberus and non-Cerberus crew. Such tensions were likely the true source of the armory feud—and they posed a dangerous risk to the mission. The team would be unable to coalesce in the presence of so much anger and discord. Greater squad unity with less animosity would please Shepard, lift a burden from her shoulders, and help ensure their mission’s success. Delivering the datapad gave him an excuse to discuss these issues with her.

And so he paced outside her quarters, glad he was learning—at last, near the end of his life—the virtues of not working alone. How to build friendships, function as part of a group, and better support those around him. All valuable lessons. But most of all, he admitted, he simply wanted to see Shepard. 

 _Ah,_ he thought, coming to a standstill in front of the door. _There’s the uneasiness. Why does this one woman matter so much?_ No answers came.

He blinked at the “unlocked” indicator light, uncertain what to think. _Is Shepard routinely this reckless with her safety? Or is she that confident in her abilities?_ He made a mental note to discuss personal security with her as he pressed the intercom to request entrance. A muffled, barely-audible voice called out, “It’s open, come on in.”

The assassin stepped over the threshold, pausing to assess the room without conscious thought. 

_Hostiles: zero. Most defensible position: small room, in near-right corner —probable bathroom. Exits: one, directly behind. Maintenance hatches: one, in near-left corner—possible exit if needed. Air vents: one, to left, near ceiling, between hatch and aquarium—potential access but tight fit. Impromptu weapons: display case and aquarium—high risk of injury from broken glass, poisonous marine life. Shepard’s location:…unknown._

The large desk to his right sat empty, aside from a sizable pile of administrative work. He glanced at the bathroom but quickly dismissed it—no audible movement. Scanning the rest of the office, he paused to admire the model ships on display until a soft, scraping sound interrupted him. Thane turned and located the source in a glass cage on an adjacent bookshelf. A small, unidentifiable pet pressed up against the enclosure and peered up at him. It seemed to question him with a soft “Meep?” before scurrying for cover.

A moment later the muffled voice called out again: “Hello? Whoever you are, grab a seat. I’ll be with you in just a minute.” The sound was so stifled that the source was not immediately apparent.

From his position near the entrance, he looked down into the living area. Another desk abutted the starboard bulkhead— _Why two desks?_ he wondered—but Shepard was neither there nor in the vicinity of the rather large bed. Finding the bed oddly unsettling, he focused instead on the aquarium, admiring the assortment of fish and trying without success to identify the one species he did not recognize. 

Stepping down into the lower level, he was drawn in by the unusual music playing in the cabin. He closed his eyes for a few moments to better capture the memory without distraction. Complex piano chords backed by a drum set, a stringed instrument, and perhaps…a saxophone? He wasn’t certain. The melody soothed the listener while the unusual rhythmic shifts stimulated. _Excellent music for exercising_ , he decided, planning to ask Shepard about it later. It would provide a pleasant alternative to the pounding rock…screechiness she preferred when in the shuttle bay’s makeshift gym. 

He visually catalogued the various holos and mementos on display, as well as the stack of datapads on Shepard’s bedside table. He was certain they were novels and histories and other forms of literature. Probably in numerous languages. He smirked as he thought of the lighthearted competition they had introduced into their conversations, each dropping casual literary references for the other to identify. Thus far, only a single, obscure quotation from a minor Tuchankan poet had eluded her. He would not be at all surprised if one of those datapads contained recently downloaded krogan verse. 

A framed pen and ink drawing adorned the wall above the datapads. Overlaid with the barest suggestions of color, it hung precisely where Shepard would see it as she awoke each morning. He moved closer and realized it was a family group: a tall man with a rather petite wife, a nearly adult daughter, and a small, female child. The tinting hinted at auburn hair and green eyes for the father, while the mother appeared to be dark blond with darker eyes. The elder daughter shared her mother’s coloring and father’s height, but the child seemed a blend of both parents. His heart ached as he realized they must be the family Shepard lost on Mindoir. She clearly took her coloring from her father, though her size seemed closer to her mother’s. 

After Sovereign’s defeat and Shepard’s temporary elevation to galactic heroine, her presence in the news was pervasive. Broadcasts became so frequent that it was impossible to go out in public without learning something new about her life story. Thane recalled that Shepard was in her mid-teens when batarian slavers destroyed her home colony. From the portrayals in the drawing, that likely made her the middle child. He wondered why she wasn’t represented. The quality of the work was that of a dedicated (or determined) amateur, carried out with care. Perhaps, he considered, she was the artist. He tried to imagine Shepard a year or two younger than Kolyat. Traumatized by the raid, everything she knew and loved ripped from her… .

_No greeting at the front door. The house is silent. “Irikah? Kolyat?” Scent is wrong, heavy with copper and— No! That can’t be. Perhaps an accident.... I rush through the house, searching. Stare at the back door, half off its hinges. Push down the panic. “Arashu, let them be safe,” I beg. “Please.” I stumble to the back of the house, frantic, clumsy. An overturned hall table. Broken vase. Fallen books. Bloody footprints lead away from the master bedroom. So much blood…_

He wrenched himself back into the present.

A battered breather helmet caught his eye a moment later. An N7, he believed, though so damaged it was hard to be certain. He wondered why Shepard hadn’t discarded it, considering it was clearly no longer of use. Then the adjacent holo registered on his senses: an image of the SR-1’s wreckage, the name _Normandy_ still visible along its side. The destroyed ship sat amid a harsh landscape of snow and ice, a husk surrounded by escape pods and pieces of charred debris. A chill settled in his gut as he realized exactly what had caused the helmet’s damage…and who had been wearing it at the time. 

_I look at the strangers who are now my teammates. They converse over the evening meal as I watch, listen, assess. The young krogan demands, “Since defeating that Reaper, which of Shepard’s enemies has provided the greatest challenge?” Every eye swings to the turian— Vakarian. They respect him, value his knowledge of the commander. Yet he is silent. Then a heavy sigh. “A non-combat operation on Alchera. Probably not the kind of battle you had in mind.” Sadness, grief resonate in his trilling, unheard by the other species. “Really tough on Shepard for a lot of reasons…none of which could be taken down with a gun.”_

Thane thought he understood the reference now, feeling a twist of regret at not having the opportunity to join Shepard sooner. He’d been planning the Dantius job as she walked that desolate site, mourning her fallen crew. He wished he’d been aboard to provide comfort after such an arduous task.

“Assuming someone’s still with me in here, you must be Thane or Kasumi,” Shepard chuckled. “Nobody else is so quiet.” 

He jolted from his reverie. For at least three minutes, he’d neglected the purpose for his visit. Fascinated by Shepard’s quarters, he’d failed to pinpoint her location in the room. He was appalled at the lapse. 

Refocused on the task at hand, it was a simple matter to follow the sound of her voice to the corner of the large couch. Strangely, only part of his friend was visible. 

For some reason he couldn’t discern, Shepard’s torso appeared to be wedged between the couch and wall. Only her lower half remained in view, hips balanced across the couch back and bare feet struggling to maintain purchase on the seat cushions. In between stretched long, bare legs leading up to a toned but gently rounded bottom in a pair of red N7 shorts. After a moment, he realized he was staring. _This is not what I…not how… . This is unexpected._

“It must be you, Thane. Kasumi would be talking my ear off by now, and only you rumble in that particular way,” Shepard reasoned, sounding amused despite her predicament. The ribbing on his cheeks and throat flushed with embarrassment; he hadn’t even noticed he was vocalizing. He hoped Shepard’s gift for languages had not made her familiar with his species’ form of non-verbal communication.

“Yes, hmm, I’m here,” he confirmed, pausing to clear his throat. He feared his…reaction was noticeable in his voice and subharmonic register. He prayed the latter was too low-pitched for her human ears to hear. “Shepard, may I ask what you’re doing? Do you require assistance?” 

Her chuckle was muffled but still audible. “‘Certain things in life simply have to be experienced—and never explained.’ Especially if explaining makes me sound like an idiot.” 

Still held rapt by her appearance, he almost missed the quotation she’d delivered as part of their ongoing game. His response bewildered him. He’d seen Shepard in exercise attire any number of times. Almost daily, in fact, as she traveled to or from the fitness area in the shuttle bay. On most of those trips, she wore bulky garments humans called “sweats,” but he’d caught glimpses of her in…less-modest items that allowed greater freedom of movement. Perhaps her clothing had been a little longer or looser on those occasions, because her lower body had certainly not had this impact on him before. 

He hoped she spoke again soon, before he did something he should not. Perhaps run his hands up her legs, to feel the softness of her skin under his palms. He looked away, back to the stack of datapads on her nightstand. Novels, literature, languages—yes, her mind!—he admired Shepard’s brilliant mind. There was no reason to focus so much attention on— 

“Okay, real reason. I was juggling the datapads,” Shepard admitted. “And they ended up flying around the room. I wasn’t even mad, I swear! Well, not at that point.” She laughed quietly to herself—at herself—and he had to glance back at her. “Anyway, one of the stupid things fell behind the couch. I’ve almost got it.” 

Just then she went up on her tiptoes. Her hips edged a little further over the back as she tried to extend her reach. He watched the shorts slide with her, exposing the bottom curves of her backside.

He took two steps toward the couch before he realized he was moving. He forced a halt, baffled by these sudden urges. The warmth he could feel thrumming through his frill. The increasing tightness of his pants. He knew he felt admiration, respect, even the beginnings of affection for Shepard. But this? Had this attraction been there all along? He’d never been physically drawn to another species before; had that lack of experience blinded him? 

Thane recognized the dangers of self-deception. His training, profession, and meditative practices all demanded thorough self-knowledge. His very nature required honest assessment of his strengths and weaknesses, successes and failures, needs and desires. That such an attraction could elude his self-understanding troubled him profoundly. He enjoyed his deepening friendship with Shepard; he did not want this…this…complication.

“Damn, thought I had it. Maybe over this way…”

He barely heard her voice. All his concentration was on his own breathing—and on Shepard’s legs. They continued to inch apart as her torso again shifted position. If her hips slid any further, shorts pulled any tighter, thighs spread any wider, he’d be able to follow her legs up and up until…

 _Arashu, allow me to leave with some dignity intact_ , he prayed silently, endeavoring not to stare at the outline of Shepard’s sex. One hand started reaching toward her, and he looked in disbelief at the glowing blue tendrils encircling his palm. _Biotics flaring? Is my control truly so tenuous?_

“Come here, closer, almost… . Almost there, just a bit more… . Come on…so close… .”

He swallowed a groan. “Shepard, if you have no need of assistance, I’ll return at a more opportune time.” He regretted the need to be so abrupt, but he had to remove himself from the cabin immediately. He took the steps at a leap and arrived in the hallway a moment later.

“Yes!” came the muffled shout from the other side of the door.

He pressed the button for the elevator and leaned his head against the cool metal wall. _Inhale, hold, exhale, again,_ his training demanded. _Regain your center._ His body had never reacted so swiftly to anyone. Not since his transition into adulthood, when it seemed the slightest breeze could trigger arousal. Even Irikah hadn’t pushed his control to the edge so quickly. And Shepard had been innocent of all intent. Entirely unaware of the effect she was having on him. 

The galaxy’s greatest assassin grinned and shook his head at his own foolishness. Commander Morgan Shepard, Savior of the Citadel, Reaper Killer, and soon-to-be Destroyer of the Collectors, had undone decades of training, strict self-discipline, and near-total physiological mastery…by simply bending over in a pair of shorts.

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  **Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


	3. The Troublemaking Turian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus puts 1 plus 1 together and comes up with "these 2 need help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

Garrus stepped into the elevator from the crew deck and hit the button for the top level. After Thane left the main battery, the turian had started to feel bad for sending his new friend to face a potentially irate Shepard in his place. And imagining an angry commander led him to realize, far too late, that this game he was playing with Jacob was probably much harder on Shepard than on the Cerberus agent. She of all people didn’t deserve this kind of crap from him. 

 _She has every right to chew me out_ , he acknowledged as the elevator doors opened. _Maybe between that and hearing me admit that I’m an idiot, she’ll forgive me_. With all of his focus on Shepard and the mess he’d created, he was doubly startled to see Thane leaning against the hallway wall as if he needed support.

“You okay, Thane? Ah, Spirits—Shepard didn’t read you the riot act, did she?” Although the drell straightened immediately, Garrus still found himself concerned. Something was…off.

“Um, I am fine,” Thane thrummed. Despite the claim, Garrus could clearly make out the distress conveyed by Thane’s subharmonics. Turians had excellent hearing, better even than drell. “I apologize for not delivering your message. Shepard is…occupied. I told her I would return later.” Thane nodded a goodbye before turning to enter the elevator.

Garrus looked his friend over carefully, trying to figure out what was wrong. Thane was dying, after all, and might need medical care, though Garrus found he liked the unusual assassin too much to dwell on that thought. Instead he fell back on his C-Sec habit of cataloguing unusual or suspicious details. 

_Person of interest: drell. Ribbing on face and throat flushed, vibrant red. Ditto red in center of lips. Breathing fast but clear. Heartbeat louder and faster than norm. First statement, growling throb in lowest register. For turians, similar sounds associated with sexual desire._

Wait…DESIRE? For a split second, Garrus considered glancing below Thane’s waist, but he couldn’t do it. Obvious arousal in public was bad enough for a male, if that was indeed the problem, and the evidence seemed to indicate that it was. Recalling some awkward moments with Tali back on the SR-1, Garrus realized he empathized with Thane too much to make him more uncomfortable. 

Shepard had somehow caused this? Shepard? She just wasn’t the lust-inspiring, _Fornax_ -cover-girl type. At least not from his perspective. And she certainly wasn’t a sexual tease. The old C-Sec officer in him wanted answers, if only to satisfy his curiosity—and, maybe, give him some ammunition for the next round of verbal sparring with his best friend.

The elevator doors closed, and Garrus entered Shepard’s cabin as he usually did—without using the intercom—and took the stairs into the seating area when he saw she wasn’t at her desk. It didn’t take long to spot her, squirming and swearing, with her torso stuck upside down between the couch and the wall. She was working her way back up and out, or at least giving it her best shot. He almost snorted with amusement: only Morgan Shepard could have a reason for ending up in that position. 

Before he offered his help, he briefly took stock of what Thane had clearly seen—the short shorts, the bare legs, the curved assets human males admired so much. Drell males, too, apparently. Though perhaps it was more a case of this particular human female and this particular drell male. _Maybe,_ he thought. _They are a lot alike, more than either of them realizes._

As he finally strode around the coffee table and up to the couch, his raspy voice flanged through his laughter. “Spirits, Shepard—how do you get yourself into these situations?”

“All your fault, Garrus,” she shot back, uncowed by his obvious enjoyment of her predicament. “Well, yours and Jacob ‘pole up his ass’ Taylor’s.” She continued wiggling until he could see some of her back. Her shirt had ridden up to her armpits.

“Let me help you, Morgan,” he chuckled, while gently placing his talons around her waist.

“Don’t you ‘Morgan’ me!” she fumed. “You can’t declare war on a Cerberus team member and expect to keep using my first name!” Finally worming her shoulders and head free, she whirled around and glared at him, his talons on her waist still keeping her steady. For once she didn’t have to look up when trying to chastise him.

“I’m going to strangle you, Garrus!” she bristled with indignation. “What the hell were you thinking, submitting your own supply request like that?” 

“You’d be a lot more intimidating, Miss Savior of the Citadel, if I wasn’t looking at a very red face and an Alliance-issue bra,” he snarked, his mandibles shifting into the turian version of a grin.

Shepard looked down at her modest chest, shimmied her shoulders to resettle her tank top, and went back to glaring. “Answer the question, you ass!”

“No good, your face is still too red,” he teased, trying to lighten her up. “Nice logo on the bra, by the way.”

She fought hard to keep a straight face but then sputtered a laugh she couldn’t hold back. He released her waist as she stepped down to the floor. “I’m still mad at you,” she announced, as she waved the newly-recovered datapad in his face, “so don’t think you’re off the hook.”

“I know, I know. It’s my fault and I need to make it right,” he conceded. 

“The galaxy thanks you for admitting you CAN be wrong,” she deadpanned, a bit of irritation still audible in her voice. “And damn straight you’re going to make it right, ‘because once thrown into the world, man is responsible for everything he does.’” 

“Damn. I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I? You’re even lobbing quotes at me.” He hoped his deep sigh of faux-distress might bring her laughter back, but Shepard just shook her head at him.

“A turian quotation even, probably required reading when you were in the military,” she scolded. 

He blinked at her.

“Come on, no guesses? Okay, Paultis Strarius, war historian and political philosopher.”

“Double damn—I should have known that one,” he admitted. “Consider me suitably humiliated. So are my ‘Morgan’ privileges restored?”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Shepard pretended to grouse. “You know I can never stay mad at you.” She motioned him to follow her around the room, and together they repositioned the couch, resituated the coffee table and chair, straightened up her work area, and checked on that odd little rodent she liked so much. What silly name did she call it? He could never remember. He watched her as she shifted about, so fluid, with no wasted motion, the same way she moved on the battlefield. He tried to truly LOOK at her, seeing his role model, his best friend—his sister, really—but working hard to glimpse what Thane might see in her that he didn’t. 

He saw someone who still looked youthful to him, though he knew he was bad at assessing human age. The lack of natural armor always threw him off. He knew her birthdate, knew she was three years older than he was, but he rarely thought of her age relative to his own. In a lot of ways her experiences had made her far older and wiser, yet somehow she also seemed younger— less cynical and able to hold on to some sense of optimism. It was confusing but that was Morgan—composed of contradictions. Comparing her to other humans, she was probably six or so years older than, say, her yeoman, Kelly, but they looked about the same age to him. He remembered the times when she had looked older than her age, when she was bone-deep exhausted or when betrayal or the weight of the galaxy was wearing her down. 

She seemed about average height for a human woman, judging from his experience aboard the SR-1 and 2; she was taller than some, shorter than others. She only came up to the middle of his cowl, though of course he was the tallest crewmember on the ship. He’d even stood back to back with Grunt in front of a mirror to prove it to the krogan kid, who had immediately growled, “Rematch in a few months. I’m still growing.” When Shepard stood next to Thane or Jacob or Zaeed, the top of her head didn’t quite clear their chins. 

She was on the slender side, definitely athletic but without obvious bulk, and without the accentuated hourglass figure that Miranda or even Liara had. He started to remember Tali’s curves and then decided to shut down that line of thought. Shepard’s workday uniform of Alliance blue BDUs, a bit of anti-Cerberus rebellion, emphasized her commander role but downplayed her femininity. Those shorts today must have been a real surprise to Thane, Garrus imagined with amusement, highlighting so well the gentle curves she DID possess. 

At the moment she looked fresh and…wholesome, he supposed, with her sprinkling of little face dots. Freckles was what she called them. Her dark red hair looked almost brown in low light but blazed with fire in the sun. And he liked how her clear green eyes usually revealed her amusement before her smile did. It was a very useful trait when he needed to figure out if she was really mad at him or just giving him a hard time. Tomorrow she could easily be covered in blood and battle muck, with that unholy light in her eyes declaring her love for tactics and combat. But right now, as she glanced up from her work pile and smiled at him, she looked…beautiful. In a soft, mushy, human kind of way.

The more he thought about it, the more he believed that Thane’s interest lay in Shepard herself rather than the unexpected situation the drell had just found himself in. As far as Garrus had noticed, Thane didn’t pay much attention to bodies at all, unless he was deciding how best to incapacitate one. He treated everyone on the ship—including EDI—with the same calm politeness. Lately he’d made more of an effort to come out of his shell with the squad, but he still didn’t seem to notice, let alone admire, the various assets Miranda, Samara, or even Jacob had on display. 

And if he didn’t want to muddy the waters with squad mates, he had other options. Garrus knew Thane wasn’t stupid or blind: the assassin was well aware that quite a few interested eyes followed him about whenever he left his quarters. If he really wanted to see a naked human, it wouldn’t take much effort on his part. Zaeed had even tried to bait him into a discussion about it once in the mess, calling him “you lucky bastard.” Thane simply shrugged a shoulder in response. He seemed more amused than anything else by the subtle and not-so-subtle invitations those interested eyes kept sending his way. 

But the only person his eyes followed about the ship was Shepard. Garrus had asked him about that a week or so ago, as the two tinkered with mods for their weapons. Thane had studied him for a long moment with those large, black eyes before giving his usual half-smile. “She is a fascinating woman, one well worth contemplating.”

He’d assumed then that Thane was talking about Shepard’s brilliant and occasionally intimidating intellect. She’d mentioned her late-night talks with the assassin a couple of times to Garrus, and he’d grinned at her excitement over finding someone with whom she could discuss dozens of odd topics. Thane, with his drell memory, even recognized most of those obscure quotations she was always dropping. Garrus had wondered sometimes back on the original _Normandy_ if intellect was her initial attraction to Kaidan. He was also a deep thinker, though he didn’t have the breadth of interests Shepard did. Few beings did or could, Garrus thought. Her mind was simply unique.

When Cerberus first brought her back, she had a hard time accepting she was alive, that it was all genuine. Admitting her fears of being a clone or an advanced VI, she’d quizzed him on their shared experiences—nicknames, private jokes, misadventures in the Mako—things the Illusive Man couldn’t know. And she’d related some stories from her childhood for the first time, trying to remind herself of the reality of her past. Despite Morgan’s very real anxiety, they’d ended up enjoying their conversations about the challenges her parents faced, raising a child like her on a colony as remote as Mindoir. 

“I went to school with kids my age, and that was great because I made friends other than my sisters. But the actual learning there was dead boring,” she’d explained to him. She was just a toddler when she started reading, was into novels when other kids her age were still into picture books. By eight, she’d demanded that her father explain geometry and algebra. She held off on calculus until she was ten. 

“My brain was like a sponge, I just needed more and more and more, constantly. I had to have the mental stimulation of new knowledge or I became restless and bored. And when I got bored, well…I found other ways to entertain myself,” she had admitted sheepishly. “Usually didn’t work out great for the people around me.” He found it easy to imagine her as a holy terror. Not because she was malicious, despite her temper, but because she needed nearly continuous mental or physical activity the same way most species needed to breathe. She still did. 

So her parents found enrichment for her everywhere they could. She’d described wonderful memories of her father demonstrating principles of physics by teaching her how to shoot every different weapon he owned or could borrow, with every different type of ammo, under every condition variation he could think of. She ended up falling in love with the challenge of long-distance sniping. She could settle down and be still in a sniper’s perch—a rare gift for someone like Morgan. The only time she was more at peace, he supposed, was when she slept.

Her introduction to biology was her father simply taking her everywhere with him on their farm. He’d done his best to answer every question she asked about plants, wildlife, domesticated animals, crops, growing cycles, weather patterns, watersheds, food chains, ecological symbiosis, how all these things might be different on Earth than on Mindoir, and on and on. What he didn’t already know, he helped her look up. 

A family friend added martial arts to Shepard’s repertoire, as a different kind of application for her knowledge of physics as well as anatomy. Other colonists passed along everything they knew about engineering, architecture, astronomy, and navigation, so this special little girl had even more ways to apply the mathematics she absorbed with no effort. Her mother handled art, literature, history and languages, always searching the extranet as well as tapping friends for learning tools to keep her daughter’s hungry mind occupied and growing. 

Although Shepard never mentioned it in any way, losing her family in the batarian raid must have been horrific. He understood that Shepard’s loss was much worse than the word “family” or even “colony” could communicate. And Thane, he was beginning to think, perhaps restored to the woman some of what had been taken from the child.

What he was less sure about was whether Shepard admired more than Thane’s brain and his ability to keep up with her many interests and trains of thought. He knew she marveled at the assassin’s combat abilities, especially how his intense physical and biotic training allowed him to flow through a field of attackers, dropping a body every other second. 

One time he caught her watching with her mouth hanging open as Thane took down a charging krogan with nothing but his hands and feet. Okay, he was willing to admit that his own mandibles had probably been hanging open for that one, too. Sadly, Thane’s impressive sniping skills, like his own, were no big deal to her, but that was probably how it should be. When Shepard took point in her infiltrator role, she trusted them with absolute certainty to make the shots that would protect her the same way she always protected them. 

Off the battlefield, in group settings, she treated Thane the same way she treated the rest of the squad. She took an honest interest in everyone’s ups and downs, likes and dislikes, and got to know each of them as individuals. And of course she joined in the joking and general camaraderie, willing to take her share of teasing as well as dish it out. 

Though now that he thought about it, Shepard actually talked less, a LOT less, whenever Thane joined in group discussions. And her face did that funny human flushing thing, going just a bit pink, when Thane spoke to her directly. Garrus couldn’t remember that happening before, even with Kaidan. Hmmm, maybe he was onto something with these two… .

“Hey, Freaky Raptor Guy,” Shepard smirked. “Are you going to stare in wonder at my luxurious quarters? Or are you going to help with this snafu you and Taylor caused?”

“Of course I’ll help, my tiny, fragile friend. I’ll even talk to the Cerberus flunky in a civil manner,” he offered, grudgingly. Then he switched topics, watching for Shepard’s reaction:

“By the way, I saw Thane as I was coming up.”

“He stopped in while I was trying to find that damn datapad,” she acknowledged as she sorted through the various reports waiting for her. Now that Garrus was looking for it, he noticed she’d gone pink again. “I can’t imagine what he thought when he saw me half stuck behind the couch. But he left without saying much, said he’d come back later. Do you know what he wanted?”

Recalling Thane’s appearance in the outer hall, he tried not to chuckle. “Yeah, I have a pretty good idea what he wanted.” 

He finished the thought in a low voice he knew Shepard’s ears couldn’t pick up: “I think things are going to get interesting around here.”

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


	4. Questions and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thane reflects on his recent discovery and makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> This chapter was the most difficult story to write originally, three years ago, and it was by far the most difficult to revise. Many, many thanks to my amazing beta N7Siha for being so patient--and thorough!
> 
> My apologies for the late post--life got in the way briefly.

Thane kept his expression neutral as the elevator doors closed. Free of Garrus’s scrutiny, he exhaled with relief and smiled. Propriety dictated that he should feel ashamed of his behavior, yet he did not. Would not. The situation in Shepard’s quarters had been unexpected, embarrassing. But also…intriguing. He remained unsettled at the prospect of feeling such attraction to a human female—to Shepard—yet, the discovery was not unwelcome. After brief consideration, he admitted he couldn’t truly be surprised. He should have identified the possibility far earlier.

_Not possibility. Risk._

Thane’s smile faded.

For a few moments, he’d been able to indulge in the physical sensations Shepard inspired. How his pulse quickened, blood rushed, and heat pooled. He felt…alive. But as the elevator descended, his mind reengaged.

_Why? Why now?_

Thirty minutes later, he sat on his cot in life support. Meditation had always been the answer during times of uncertainty. The ability to reassert control over his body was comforting. Cataloguing and relaxing each muscle. Pacing the slow thud of his heartbeat against the comforting thrum of the engine core. Still, his mind remained occupied. Uncooperative. Questions refusing to subside.

 _Why, Arashu? Why bring me to Shepard?_ he asked. _How long do I have, Kalahira? Eight months? Twelve? What purpose can it serve to rouse me from battle sleep, with so little time left?_

For ten years, he’d been disconnected. Spirit compelled into battle sleep as his body hunted Irikah’s killers. But now… . Now, he felt whole. Awakened. And he owed much of that change, if not all, to Shepard.

Somehow, since leaving Illium, she’d claimed more from him than just his oath of service. She hadn’t asked for more. She’d done nothing but offer her friendship and conversation—and perhaps gently cajole him into taking an interest in _Normandy’s_ crew. After so many years lost in battle sleep, her vitality had drawn him back into the world. She was sudden sunlight breaking through Kahje’s perpetual rain—and his soul basked in her warmth.

 _She smiles. Eyes sparkling, widening, at my choice of quotation. Laughs, unrestrained, head thrown back. My pulse quickens. I feel…too much. Her respect is gift enough._   

He’d tried to brush aside his growing attachment as mere fascination with the mythos of Commander Shepard. After all, she inspired intense loyalty—even devotion—in all those around her. That she succeeded in convincing Samara to suspend her oath and quest was astounding. He recalled the visor recording Garrus had shared.

_The justicar bends her knee to Shepard. Biotic field shimmers. Eyes glow. The asari detective stands. Awe, reverence, awareness. She knows she witnesses history._

But the events of today had been a revelation. His feelings for Shepard went beyond admiration. Beyond respect. The attraction he felt was to the woman behind that heroic persona, to Morgan herself. To her intellectual gifts and caring heart. Her frequent humor and deceptive strength. Even her stubborn will and flashes of temper. He’d agreed to join her cause for the opportunity to earn an honorable death. After today…he was no longer certain that was enough.

_Arashu, what should I do?_

Thane’s brow creased with worry. He wished to set aside reservations and embrace this new possibility. Forget his past experiences and current situation. But life had taught him far too well the costs of not properly anticipating the results of his actions.

_Laser dot trembles on his skull. One finger twitch, he dies. The smell of spice on the spring wind. Sunset colored eyes defiant in the scope. The laser dances away._

Irikah’s entrance into his life brought many questions. All overshadowed by the compulsion to find her, speak to her, beg her forgiveness. Hesitating, considering the consequences—even for a moment—hadn’t occurred to him. And so he’d failed to calculate the potential costs of following his blind desire. He’d just thanked the gods for their blessing. Ignored whether his presence in Irikah’s life—and later, Kolyat’s—was perhaps selfish, even reckless.

Eight years later, he’d noticed a minor reduction in his lung capacity and breath control. His physician delivered a diagnosis: Kepral’s Syndrome. Fatal. Incurable. Her demeanor suggested she’d communicated the same news countless times before. He sat in a daze, only half listening to the list of treatment and lifestyle recommendations.

_How can this be? I’m healthy. Strong. I serve my people. Am true to the old ways. How long do I have? What do I tell Irikah? HOW do I tell Irikah? And Kolyat. How do I explain a terminal illness to a child of six? What will happen to them when I’m gone?_

_Why, Arashu? Why bless me and then allow this death sentence?_

A day later he’d left on an unexpected contract, keeping the diagnosis to himself. Fulfilling its terms had taken a month.

The job had been difficult. He’d sustained injuries—a rare occurrence. Injuries indicated a failure to plan, to consider every detail. In this case, the blueprint he’d acquired of the target’s location showed a small, side entrance that had been decommissioned. He’d neglected to verify the accuracy of the information, his mind constantly returning to his diagnosis. To Irikah.

The side entrance had been fully functional. Several squads of mercs used the point of access to catch him by surprise. By the grace of Arashu he’d escaped with only a few bullet wounds, but it was an egregious error. One due to distraction. Lack of focus. Embarking on a contract with his spirit in such turmoil had been unwise. If he failed to regain control, his own stupidity would claim him long before his disease had the chance.

When he discovered the transport back to Kahje had been delayed a day, he didn’t seek out alternative arrangements. Rather, he’d welcomed the reprieve. Exhausted and still recovering, he knew there was no avoiding the inevitable. He needed to return home. But, after another day of contemplation, perhaps he’d know how to break the news to Irikah.

Thane flinched from the recollection of what came next. At what the batarians had done to his wife as he made his way home. The ultimate consequence of his impulsiveness years before. Of failing to consider the possible costs. Irikah had paid for his carelessness. 

 _Why, Kalahira?_ He’d demanded, begged, upon finding her body, limp and lifeless. _Why her and not me? Why did you not protect your siha, Arashu? Why was the transport delayed? Gods, why didn’t I try harder to return on time?_

The single blessing of that day was Kolyat’s absence. As she often did when Thane was due home from a contract, Irikah had sent their son to her sister’s for the night. But while Kolyat was spared Irikah’s fate, the reality was that his child lost both parents that day. Another innocent paying for his mistakes. He vowed then that his actions would never again bring such pain to another.

Thane trilled in distress, the parallel between Shepard and Irikah now clear. Both vivid women. Both with the ability to awaken him.

Both…sihas.

It was unmistakable. Both were fierce, tenacious protectors. How had he not seen it earlier? He called up his memories from a month ago, tracking Shepard’s team as they moved through the Dantius Towers.

_I spot a blurred distortion of space on the field—a cloaked infiltrator advancing on the mercs. The Eclipse vanguard’s charge is disrupted by an energy drain. A barrage of tech attacks and deadly gunfire remove the threat._

_The cloak drops, revealing a human woman. Obvious military bearing. Ah, an N7 designation. Highly trained. Impressive. I glance at her companions. She is quite small in comparison. Even…delicate. Yet her strength of will blazes around her. There is no doubt who commands this team._

_I track them through the Tower, watching from catwalks. Fascinated. Riveted. Only one thing slows her advance—the chance to spare lives. She uses words as often as bullets. Convinces mercenaries to leave the building. And the salarians—she locates all workers and offers assistance. For a battle-hardened soldier, she displays…an unexpected dedication to peace. A warrior who protects._

_The turian calls her “Shepard.” This can’t be. Commander Shepard? I struggle with the revelation. She draws closer. She is young. Age likely a decade less than my own. So young to have accomplished so much._

_The surprises continue. An invitation to join her team. A chance to assist someone dedicated to helping others. To make the galaxy a brighter place before I go to the sea. “I will work for you, Shepard. No charge.”_

The turian—Vakarian—later provided a tour of _Normandy_ , introducing him to some of the crew. An asari justicar, a tank-bred krogan, and the former leader of the Blue Suns, if he wasn’t mistaken. All commented on the honor they felt serving with the commander. The salarian professor—almost certainly retired STG—had issued a matter-of-fact threat to his health if he harmed her in any way. This crew left no doubt about their commitment. And Shepard was their undisputed center.

After the tour, Vakarian had mentioned Shepard would visit him that evening. She did indeed. What he’d assumed would be a perfunctory check on his accommodations turned into a two-hour chat. Within the first 30 minutes, he decided the undertone of good humor and occasional amusement in her voice was a reflection of her personality. A renowned warrior and efficient killer who was somehow still…lighthearted. He found the juxtaposition compelling.

When they paused for refreshments, he learned she shared his preference for tea. She took her Earth blend milky with a hint of sweetness. He also discovered, as they stood near each other in the galley, that Shepard was even smaller out of her armor. The top of her head didn’t quite reach his chin. He resisted the urge to brush his frill against her odd curtain of red strands. _Were they as silky as they looked?_ he wondered, telling himself the desire was based on simple curiosity. That it wasn’t specific to Shepard.

The recollection kicked up one corner of Thane’s mouth into a small, self-deprecating smile. He wasn’t usually so blind to his own motivations.

Their discussion revealed that she had a mind unlike any human he’d known. She seemed to hunger for new knowledge and listened to his experiences with avid but respectful curiosity. Details regarding Rakhana and Kahje. The hanar and drell and the Compact. His early training. His religious beliefs. She possessed far more knowledge of his culture than any other alien he’d encountered. When she revealed he was the first drell she’d met, he found himself even more impressed.

And she did far more than absorb material that was new to her. She asked intelligent and engaging questions that broadened his thinking. She’d recognized the insights of Hobbes and countered with the wisdom of Rousseau. And though she accepted cultural differences, she willingly contested viewpoints she felt were arbitrary or inconsistent. He realized he enjoyed the challenge she presented. That he enjoyed…her. By the end of the evening, he found himself hoping she would visit again. Soon.

And she had. They quickly settled into a routine that included chats in his quarters several times a week. During his meditations, he often returned to their conversations in his thoughts. The one he revisited most frequently was the evening he managed to turn the tables on the inquisitive commander. For once coaxing her into most of the talking. His efforts were rewarded with a new discovery. Something else they shared in common. Like himself, Shepard held her own set of spiritual beliefs. Worshiped her own gods and often struggled with questioning their will. He’d found…comfort in this for some reason. That a person of integrity, with a strong moral code, would share a similar hardship.

_“We’ve spoken a number of times about my religious views, Shepard.” We sit at the table, each with a mug of tea. “I am interested in hearing of your own, whatever they may be.”_

_She looks…pensive. Tired. Not quite the vibrant young woman I’ve come to expect. She doesn’t respond immediately. Perhaps I’ve chosen the wrong time for this inquiry. Her smile is weak, an unconvincing social gesture._

_“Interesting you mention that tonight,” she begins. “It’s been on my mind today.” She stands and walks to the window overlooking the drive core. Another long pause. She continues, “I don’t usually talk much about this. Most humans are…uncomfortable with discussions of religion. It can be a controversial topic. A lot of opposing viewpoints. I try to respect that. I don’t ever want a friend or crewmember to feel I’m trying to impose my views. But since you asked… .”_

_She looks at me over her shoulder. “My parents did raise me with a specific set of beliefs. An Earth religion more than 2000 years old.” She smirks a bit. “That’s pretty old, for humans anyway.”_

_She turns back to the window. “About half our colony’s pioneer population came from the same place on Earth. A country where this religion was pretty common. So the teachings stayed consistent, even though I grew up on Mindoir rather than on the homeworld. We had a building for prayer that anyone with similar beliefs would have felt was familiar. Comfortable. I really liked that idea when I was young—that people on different planets, multiple relays apart, could share the same beliefs. That we shared them across generations and would pass them along into the future.”_

_Shepard’s neck and shoulders become rigid with tension. “Unity and continuity are comforting concepts,” I rumble, hoping to soothe. Something causes her discomfort. Pain. Will further discussion help or hurt her? I wish to find some way to bring her peace._

_“They are,” she agrees, ghosting patterns on the glass with a finger. Her voice is odd. Flat. “Until they explode and disappear. Until you’re forced to wonder if they were a lie in the first place.”_

_Silence fills the room. Lingers. I begin to fear she won’t resume, but then she pivots to face me. Leans back against the window. Speaks in hushed tones, words halting. “I had a sister once. Two, actually. My younger sister, Brenna… . She would have been 25 years old today.”_

_She twists and knots the fingers of both hands together, a gesture she seems unaware of making. “I’ve been wondering what she would’ve been like, if she’d gotten a chance to grow up. What kind of life she might have had. She was…a really sweet kid. Easy to...love.”_

_She ducks her chin to avoid eye contact. “Sure, we fought sometimes. A lot, actually, as I got older. With the age difference between us, we weren’t interested in the same things. I’d get annoyed at her always following me around. Really lose my temper at times. But then she’d hug me and tell me she loved me anyway.”_

_She takes a deep breath. Blinks back tears that have started to form.  Drops her arms to her sides and starts pacing the room. “Today, I realized I’m still angry about the fact that she’s not here,” she confesses. Her voice turns harsh, pacing faster, steps heavier. “I was so angry for such a long time. Not as bad as Jack, maybe, but getting there. Why would a benevolent god allow things like slaver raids? Why would he take my family? Take nearly everyone I’d known my entire life? But…leave me…to continue alone?”_

_Hurt confusion hides beneath her temper. My gut twists with guilt at the thought of Kolyat facing similar loss. I wish to provide comfort but hesitate to interrupt._

_“I asked the same questions over and over. Needing some kind of answer. Any answer.” The flash of anger suddenly deflates. She sighs before retaking her chair and linking her hands. “I felt like I was constantly yelling at God in my head. Then, after a while, the yelling became more like…conversations. Still the same questions, but with me supplying possible answers, trying them out. Kind of like the way I used to work through complex school lessons with my dad. Until I accepted that there really were no answers. It had never been my god’s fault to begin with. Or my family’s fault. Or mine.”_

_A resolution? I wonder. It clearly has not brought her peace._

_“But just as I was regaining a sense of…balance with it all, the galaxy yanked everything out from under me.” Her hands clench in such tight fists that her knuckles grow white. Her nails—short at they are—must be marking her palms, but she gives no sign of pain. “Boom, I was instantly back to bottomless anger and endless questions. Why would a caring god create thresher maws? Why would he let them tear through my squad, killing 50 good people? They were my first command, my responsibility. I failed them. I should have died. Not them.”_

_She sits rigid. Cannot control the vibrations of barely-suppressed rage that masks the pain beneath. My heart breaks for her. How has she carried this for so long? The flash of emotion passes and she stills._

_She grimaces, as if unhappy with herself or perhaps with her memories. “Eventually, I came to a similar conclusion, like after Mindoir. A kind of…peace. Still took a while, even though I’d been through it before.” Her fists relax and open. I’m relieved to see no sign of blood._

_She abruptly stands, spins to face the window. Again she hides her face, keeps her back toward me._

_“And then…then…the Collectors blew up the SR-1. Killed 20 of my crew. All good people. Gone. And…and I…didn’t make it, either.” I expect more anger, but her voice conveys a different kind of anguish. Turmoil. Confusion. Desolation. She seems…lost. Her whisper is barely audible, even to my hearing. “I haven’t…tried to talk to my god about this one. Not yet. I don’t even know… . How do I talk about…nothing?”_

_After a long moment, she looks back at me. “Do you understand any of this?” Her troubled eyes are an odd contrast to her forced smile and humorous tone. “I imagine I sound like a crazy person, admitting to conversations with myself. But ‘The organic mind is not a logical or consistent place. And only the mad are truly sure of their sanity.’”_

_She is deflecting, wanting to change topic. Perhaps needing time to process? Disquiet, unease intrude on my thoughts. How will Shepard comes to terms with her own…death? What havoc must her resurrection be inflicting on her spirit?_

_“I understand more than you might think, Shepard,” I confess, issuing a low thrum of comfort. “I’ve known loss, and I’ve turned to my gods for answers.”_

_I give her a small smile, hoping she’ll relax if I follow her lead. “Salarian philosopher Joldan Benle, by the way. You said you came to a resolution but fell back into anger today.”_

_She smiles at this response to our literary reference game. Retaking her seat, she becomes thoughtful. “I don’t think…trauma ever leaves us,” she concedes, tangling her fingers and choosing her words with care. “The best thing to hope for is that I…handle it better whenever it…rolls back around or takes a new form. And I…I think I do, generally…though some days are…harder than others.”_

_“Indeed, some are,” I concur with a nod. “You’re wiser than most beings manage even late in their lives. Despite your…questions and struggles…do you still believe in your god? Do you still consider yourself a member of the faith in which you were raised?”_

_“I…well…I think so,” she offers. “I’ve held on to certain things. Like what my relationship with the larger universe should be like. How I should treat others. That the innocent and powerless require my care and protection. That their needs are more important than mine._

_“But the ‘don’t ever do this’ rules…I’m less sure about those. I was taught that certain things are always moral, others always immoral. That distinction, though—it’s cloudier than I expected back when I was younger. Now, I guess…I believe that…context and intention matter. Outcome matters. Something ‘immoral’ might help good people in need. Something ‘moral’ could be used to inflict unjust harm. I mean…how else can I wrap my brain around the fact I’m with Cerberus? It all becomes very muddy, philosophical gymnastics. I do still believe that truth and goodness are more than abstractions. That I should always be looking for ways to move in their direction. But everything else is…shades of gray.”_

_Her expression is frustrated, bewildered. She shakes her head, as if banishing troublesome thoughts. Her subsequent smile is almost normal. “I could never be a justicar, obviously. But meeting other species, trying to gain an understanding of their cultures and beliefs—it’s had an impact. A positive one. I’m not sure what my parents would think about the way my beliefs have…broadened as a result. I still refer to the god they taught me about, but my actual thinking is less…proprietary. Now I lean toward an…unknowable cosmic force as the single power behind most religions. That each specific belief set is a manifestation of that particular culture’s needs.”_

_“So you see your god and my gods as different faces of the same divinity,” I restate. “I would need to think on that, Shepard, but it is an interesting idea.”_

_“As long as you remember I’m a soldier, not a philosopher,” she chuckles, sounding more natural. Holds up her hands in a don’t-blame-me gesture. Her smile dims. “Nor a theologian. I certainly don’t…have all the answers. After all, this ‘wise’ human was admitting to purposeless, recycled anger just a little while ago.”_

_I lean forward in my chair. Address her with resolve, hoping she takes my words to heart. “Don’t blame yourself for your anger, Shepard. It’s not purposeless—it provides a buffer, a necessary one. You still care deeply for your sister, for the memories of your life together. But the circumstances of her loss were heartbreaking. Anger might be the least painful emotion for you to access when you think of her. It is difficult, how strong, negative emotions can take over and control memories we know were beautiful and positive. But the good memories and happier emotions are there. Waiting for when you no longer need the anger for protection.”_

_Her smile grows tremulous. “Thank you, Thane. To quote a rather wise drell, ‘I would need to think on that, but it is an interesting idea.’”_

Thane returned to the present, still savoring Shepard’s more peaceful state when she said “good night” that evening. She’d carried a heavy burden into life support but seemed lighter as she left. He was pleased and grateful he could give her that small gift. 

As he reflected further, it became clear that conversation marked a small but significant change in their evenings together. They both grew less reserved, more willing to exchange pieces of their personal histories. It was the first time she lowered her guard and disclosed private conflict. He hoped then—and still hoped—that it would not be the last.

He sighed, understanding now that his attachment was far deeper than he’d already known. The realization made his decision even more difficult. And more important.

_Tell me what to do, Arashu._

Though generous in giving of herself, Shepard hesitated to rely on others. Her history of loss created high walls of protection. Ones she’d begun to dismantle for him. If he revealed his interest too soon, he suspected she’d retreat. Perhaps shut down entirely. He could lose their developing friendship. An outcome he refused to risk.

He could allow their relationship to progress at its current pace—perhaps with the occasional subtle…suggestion that he may be interested in more. Such a strategy should minimize any danger to their friendship. But was it the right course of action? Not just for him, but for her?

He wanted the answer to be _Yes!_ Wanted the chance to hold Shepard in his arms. Catch strands of her hair on his chin. Lower his head to test the softness of her lips against his own. He wanted the chance to earn her love. To support her, lend his strength to help carry her burdens. Stand at her side as she faced the battles she alone seemed able to fight.

_But for how long, Kalahira? Eight months? A year?_

He tried to argue with himself that a long-term future was beside the point. That they were certain to perish going through the Omega 4 relay—or facing what lay on the other side. But he no longer held that belief. If anyone could ensure their mission’s success and safe return, it was Shepard. She had a future to look forward to. He…did not.

_And yet…a year. Together._

She deserved more. It was so little to offer. Almost insignificant in the lifespan of a human. Shepard might live another 100 years or more—the dangers of her career aside. Yet, she’d already experienced enormous loss in her young life. More than most beings—even the longest-lived—could imagine. And he was almost certain she carried additional burdens. Alone, unshared. How could he lead her down a path that risked further pain?

Perhaps…the brevity of their time together would ease her grief at his passing? She’d say goodbye with a few simple tears and move on when his spirit crossed the sea. Emotional pain was, after all, nothing but a construct of memory. Human and drell memories were very different.

From their conversations, such a…contained reaction seemed unlikely. Shepard revealed as much when recounting the loss of her squad on Akuze. Of the SR-1. Of her sister and family. Time mattered little to her ability to form bonds. If she continued to place her trust in him, came to share his feelings…she would love as she laughed. Without restraint. Hold on to his memory with all her might and determination. Not only for the rest of his life but for hers. Mourn him the same way she did her family. The same way he grieved Irikah.

_Guide me, Arashu._

The gods intervened in mysterious ways. Arashu had crossed his path with Shepard’s for a reason. Perhaps Irikah’s death also served a purpose. To ensure he would not repeat the mistake of failing to consider consequences and costs. To teach him to put the needs of others above his own. To protect Shepard from any future pain of his making—from any distractions that might risk the fulfillment of her destiny.

The more he considered it, the more he realized the current state of their relationship was already problematic. He’d wanted to touch her during their first evening chat. The desire kept recurring. It was unlikely to abate if they continued spending time together. And he’d learned today—to his shock and dismay—that his discipline and control were no longer reliable. Not with Shepard within reach.

Thane’s face fell.

He couldn’t indulge in this fantasy any longer. Maintaining their friendship would be impossible. He had to cut all ties but those required by his oath.

_Forgive me, Siha. I must let you go._

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


	5. Heads, Hearts, and Hand-to-Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus plays meddling middleman after Thane steps back from his developing relationship with Shepard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

Garrus stood on the crew deck next to the elevator, wondering where he should go first. The button for the top level would take him to Shepard in her cabin. If he ignored the elevator, a few short steps would take him down the hall to Thane in life support. He needed to talk to at least one of them, maybe both. In the four days since the “datapad” incident, something had gone wrong. And the former C-Sec officer had a sneaking suspicion he was partly at fault.

 _Damn, I know better. Asking Thane to take that requisition order up to Shepard was stupid,_ Garrus thought. _But I had no way of knowing she’d be wearing shorts. While bent in half over a couch. And that he might…respond._

Thane’s response was the problem, as far as Garrus could tell. Despite the close friendship developing between the assassin and the commander, the drell’s physical attraction to her seemed to catch him off guard. Garrus flexed his mandibles in the turian version of a grin as he wondered how two such intelligent, observant people could completely miss their mutual fascination with each other.

But something about Thane’s reaction to Shepard had caused him to withdraw. He kept to his quarters in life support, avoided the team except for briefings, and took his meals at odd times when the mess was empty. According to Shepard, he’d even turned her away when she stopped by for one of their late-night conversations. Told her, “Perhaps another time; I wish to consider what we have already discussed.”

While Shepard had tried to shrug it off, Garrus knew his old friend was hurt. The weight of her responsibilities had seemed lighter since Thane joined the team. She’d smiled and laughed more. Now she had to make an effort to seem relaxed. Just last night, Joker had been on a rare roll during dinner, slinging joke after joke until almost everyone gasped for breath between laughs. Shepard had barely even cracked a smile. Garrus was worried about her. 

Waking up in a Cerberus lab and learning she’d lost two years of her life had shaken her. Not that he could blame her. After leaving Omega, she’d asked him over and over again to quiz her on things only the two of them would know. Stuff that Cerberus wouldn’t have been able to program into a clone or AI. Then just when she was settling down, Kaidan put her through that garbage on Horizon and tried to justify it in some extranet message. The blind idiot even implied she was a traitor! 

Shepard didn’t need that kind of rejection again. Not after how hard she’d fought to find her way back after Lazarus. Spirits, he could tell Thane was already more important to her than Kaidan had ever been. Mind made up, he marched down the hall and into life support.

“I’m meditating at present,” Thane stated, without moving.

“You’ve been meditating a lot lately, Krios,” Garrus responded. “Remember when you took down that krogan battlemaster using only hand-to-hand a few missions back? You said then you’d do some sparring with me, help me brush up on that part of my military training.” 

The assassin turned to stare at his visitor. “ _Normandy_ arrives at Haestrom to pick up your quarian friend within a few days. I am sure Shepard will want your help on the mission. Does sparring with me at this time seem wise?”

 _Ooo-kay,_ Garrus thought. _Thane is upset, too. Just like Shepard. The real question right now, though, is whether that snarl in his subharmonics is a credible threat. Nah, he’s bluffing. He wouldn’t hurt me. Well, not too badly anyway. He’d never hear the end of it from Shepard._

“Come on, Krios. Save for some resource mining, no one’s been off this ship for days,” Garrus protested. “Spirits, my conditioning is just fading away. Help me out here.”

Thane held his gaze for another few moments before closing his eyes with a sigh. When he opened them, Garrus thought he caught a small smile. “Fine. The shuttle bay. Ten minutes. But you are not permitted to complain in any way, about anything.”

With a nod Garrus left life support, hoping Shepard would appreciate his sacrifice if the spar went south. After a quick change into workout clothes, he used his omnitool to send a message: “We both need some exercise. Gym in an hour?” He breathed a sigh of relief when she pinged back with a simple, “Sounds good. See you then.”

When he arrived in the shuttle bay’s makeshift gym, Thane was already stretching on the large exercise mat—in something other than his leather gear. Garrus noted the details without thought.

_Black, drawstring pants. No-collar tunic, side slits, long sleeves. Looser clothing equals easier movement. Lighter, too. Some plant-based material. Linen? Was that what Shepard called it?_

_Hmm, lace-up neckline left undone,_ he observed smugly. _Wonder how Shepard might react to that?_  

The music the drell had chosen sounded familiar, but Garrus couldn’t quite place it.

“I heard it in Shepard’s quarters,” Thane admitted in response to his quizzical look. “EDI informed me it’s a human style called jazz. Popular on some of their colonies, using instruments now considered old-fashioned on Earth. I wished to hear it again. Shepard keeps her music collection in open share status on _Normandy’s_ network.”  

Garrus responded with a smirk, “It’s certainly a big improvement over the noise she listens to when she’s down here. I didn’t think she had anything in common with Jack until I heard that so-called ‘music’ they both like. Sounds like screeching and screaming to me.”

“You would be wise to stretch,” Thane remarked. Garrus thought the drell sounded amused.

“Speaking of Jack,” Garrus casually stated as he warmed up, “you should have seen her when Shepard first got her off of that prison ship. She was much more hostile than she is now, if you can imagine. Unable to trust anyone or even tolerate attempts at conversation. She kept completely to herself in that storage space under engineering. Cerberus really messed up that kid.”

“I noticed,” Thane wryly acknowledged. “When you introduced us, I found her quite…interesting. Her…colorful vocabulary and inventive threats were meant, I’m sure, to broaden my understanding of human culture.”

“Sure, you go with that, Thane,” Garrus laughed. “But I wouldn’t spread it around.” His raspy chuckle won a small smile from the drell.

“Somehow, though, Shepard is working her magic,” he continued. “I don’t know how she kept Jack from putting a hole in the hull during their first conversation onboard. Maybe it’s because she has her own temper and problems and understands that kind of deep anger. However Shepard did it, our ‘psychotic biotic’ now mostly eats with the team, cooperates with squad members on missions, even smiles sometimes. 

“And she does it all for Shepard, though I’m not sure either of them knows it. She still has the worst mouth I’ve ever heard. And I don’t think she and Miranda can be left alone in the same room without one of them ending up dead. But the overall change is pretty remarkable.”

Thane’s subharmonics pulsed an inquiry along the lines of, “Do you have a point?”

Garrus shot a piercing look at his friend. “How do you think Shepard would feel if Jack suddenly backslid on all this progress? If the person she now thinks of as a little sister just stopped talking and shut her out?”

Thane appeared disturbed for a brief moment before wiping the expression from his face. “Are all turians this lacking in subtlety?”

“So I’m not subtle,” Garrus admitted. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He walked to the center of the mat.

Thane joined him and took up a defensive sparring posture. “Shepard doesn’t think of me as a ‘little sister.’ Your analogy is flawed.”

“You’re right. You’re more important to her than that.” At Thane’s visible jolt of surprise, Garrus leapt forward for a quick grab. The assassin easily sidestepped the attack despite his momentary distraction.

“A mediocre attempt. If you don’t have better efforts to offer, Garrus,” Thane lightly mocked, “even my talents won’t be enough to improve your skills.”

The two continued sparring for about ten minutes until Thane called a halt. After Garrus caught his breath, the session restarted with more teaching and practicing than actual sparring.

Fifteen minutes later, Garrus failed yet again to avoid Thane’s hold. “Alright, I give, I give, you slippery bastard. Let’s take a break. I need to catch my breath.”

They grabbed a couple of water tubes and sat down, backs against a bulkhead. “Why am I really down here?” Thane inquired. 

“Well, I obviously need to brush up on my unarmed combat,” Garrus began. “I used to be damn good while I was in the military, before I started focusing more on marksmanship. And as much as I hate to admit it, you’re the best hand-to-hand specialist I’ll ever have a chance to work with.” He paused before concluding, “I also thought you might need to talk.”

Thane fiddled with his water tube in an unusual sign of agitation. “What do you think I need to discuss?” he murmured.

“How about, why you’re pulling this disappearing act?” Garrus asked, launching into interrogation mode. “How about, why you’re hurting Shepard like this?” Heat edged into his subharmonic register.

Thane set down the water tube and gazed at him for a minute. “I know the two of you share a close friendship, and you care about her a great deal. You are…family to each other. That is the only reason I’m still sitting here. So believe me when I say I’m trying to spare her pain, not cause it.” 

He dropped his eyes to his hands before continuing, “As much as I may now wish to, I can’t change the future I face. If my friendship with her continues to deepen, if it—” He broke off and shook his head, as if to banish the thought he wouldn’t voice. “My death will hurt her. And Shepard has already faced enough loss.”

Garrus took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I wondered if that was part of it. Look, I haven’t mentioned this to you yet. Shepard is the only one aboard who knows. My mother is dying. She has a degenerative condition that affects her brain function. Some days are fine while others are…hard. Twice I managed to get a real-time video connection to Palaven only to have her refuse to speak to me. See, on her bad days she forgets that she has a family. Forgets that she has a son.” He glanced at Thane, ready to reject pity but seeing only understanding.

“After the second time, I considered not calling anymore. I even talked it over with my sister, Solana,” he continued. “And she had some good advice for her big brother. She asked if the pain caused by the bad days meant more to me than the pleasure of the good ones. Of talking to the mother we remember and love.” 

He paused for a long moment. “These are my mother’s final days. I’m not sure she’ll still be around by the time we go through the Omega 4 relay. If vid calls are my only chance to be with her before the end—hers or mine—then I want all the good memories I can collect, despite how much it might hurt.”

Garrus waited until the drell turned his head and made eye contact before concluding, “I’m pretty sure you already know this, Thane, but maybe you need to be reminded. When death takes away someone we care about, the good memories don’t make the pain worse. They’re what make the pain bearable.” 

Thane dipped his head in response. “I will…consider what you have said,” he promised.

“Good, because there’s more,” Garrus replied with satisfaction, shifting into a more comfortable position against the bulkhead. “You give Shepard something no one else has been able to for a long time. With the rest of us, she has to constantly keep that crazy brain of hers in check. She always has to think about communicating in ways that won’t go over the heads of the team and the crew. 

“But with you…with you, she doesn’t have to rein herself in. You understand most of that weird stuff she likes to talk about. You even made a game out of the ridiculous quotes you both drop. I don’t think you realize how much that means to her. How important you already are in her daily life.”

Thane didn’t reply right away, his reluctance to share his thoughts—even with a friend— abundantly clear. When he did speak, his words were hesitant and hushed, eyes fixed again on his hands. “You’re aware that I believe my life follows a trajectory set in motion by the gods I worship. When I met Shepard, I…I felt such certainty they had crossed my path with hers for a reason. To give me the chance to atone for the evils I’ve done. To provide an opportunity for an honorable death. Then…then I realized…what I feel for her goes beyond loyalty. Beyond…beyond friendship. But to hope for more…for something…deeper… . It would be selfish.”

He finally lifted his eyes back to Garrus. “Why would they do this to me—to Shepard—when there is so little time left? I have a year, perhaps less. My loss will only worsen the burden of grief she already carries. Mindoir. Akuze. Virmire. The Battle of the Citadel. Alchera. So much for one still so young. If she…if we…become…more, the pain my death will cause her would be cruel.”

“See, this is where you’re forgetting a few things,” Garrus countered. “One is that Shepard is her own person, with her own…unique take on things. You don’t know—even I don’t know— exactly where she is in all this to begin with. She might never see you as more than a friend. She might already be, as the humans say, head over heels. Either way, you can’t control that part of the equation, no matter what you do now. You don’t get to decide for her.”

He went on, “Two. I know you feel like you have an expiration date. But no one really knows when their time is up. Sure, we could both die when we hit that Collector base. With Shepard leading, though, we might not. Some cure for Kepral’s could come along. You could live another 40 or 50 years. Might happen. Might not. You don’t know either way.”  
  
Garrus paused a moment, trying to gauge Thane’s response. _Face neutral and impassive. Breathing steady, but heartrate elevated. Hands clasped and flexing. Lower register—no audible sounds. None? Unusual for a drell. Working damn hard to control his reactions._

“And here’s a twist on that, since Shepard is who she is. She’s smart and careful, but she’s not bulletproof. Any of us—even Shepard—could get taken out by some merc with a missile lucky enough to hit the shuttle. Or any of a dozen other ways. Remember, a few of us know that pain—we’ve already lost her once. And here we are, following her on a damn suicide mission. So think about who you’re really protecting by pushing her away like this.”

_Woah. Trilling—clearly unhappy. Couldn’t stifle THAT response._

“And three is about your gods. If you trust that they help set your path, that they brought you to Shepard, why don’t you trust them to know what they’re doing regarding where it might all end up?”

The stunned look that flashed across Thane’s face lasted only a moment but was unmistakable. Garrus sat back, proud he’d shaken that sometimes frustrating calm.

“I know I’m pushing my luck with you today, but do me a favor,” Garrus requested. “Don’t let fear limit what you do with the life you have left. Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t do it to Shepard.”

Thane looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes widening just a fraction with a new realization. “You somehow deduced my need to confess. What I needed to confess. How? When? Not even I suspected my…connection to her ran so deep until… .”

“Until you went to her quarters,” Garrus completed. “I’ve been picking up little bits and pieces for a while, like the way your eyes follow her when you think no one’s watching. I probably should’ve seen this coming just from the Dantius mission. You both acted out of character. You shadowed us through the Tower instead of focusing on your contract. No assassin would do that—at least, he shouldn’t. You let yourself get distracted, and that didn’t fit with your dossier or the file C-Sec has on you. Not that it’s much of a file, by the way.

“But Shepard’s actions are what tipped me off to your presence. She was distracted, too. She kept scanning the rooms, and it was more curiosity than combat mode. When I realized you were right there, watching us from some dark corner—probably the catwalks—my best friend flat-out lied to me and said you’d moved on. Even then, you stayed. I couldn’t see you, but Shepard could. She absolutely knew you were still there. I don’t think she realizes I can usually tell when she lies, but she’s terrible at it. Good thing she doesn’t try very often.

“Anyway, all the pieces started coming together when I saw you outside her door a few days ago. Your typical control was…a little lacking. I don’t have your memory or her brain power, but I do notice details. As my father said, ‘You can take the turian out of C-Sec, but you can’t take C-Sec out of the turian.’ I can cite quotations, too, you know.”

“Are you certain that Shepard… ?” Thane seemed unable to finish the question.

Garrus chuckled at the assassin’s nervousness. “Nobody but Shepard can answer that. She hasn’t said anything to me—not that I’d violate her privacy if she had. No offense. Our conversations are private, too, if she were to ask, in case you’re wondering. But based on just what I’ve seen…even she might not know how she feels. She cares so much about everyone else, but the idea someone might care in return always seems to surprise her. Maybe even…scare her a bit, if that makes sense. And that’s with friends. For something more…intimate…she seems almost blind to the possibility. So give her time.

“But come on, Krios,” he snarked. “Do you think I’d be putting us both through this embarrassing conversation just for your happiness?”

As if on cue, the elevator door opened and Shepard stepped out. When she noticed Thane with Garrus, she seemed surprised, then pleased. Garrus was amused to see her pink flush return as she looked over Thane’s clothing, especially the exposed throat and upper chest.

Thane murmured to him, “You arranged for her to come down here, did you not?”

“Of course,” he returned, unperturbed as Shepard walked over to the pair. He smirked when he noticed she happened to be wearing the same shorts that had unsettled Thane in the first place. 

Thane smiled at her as he stood and offered a polite hand up to Garrus. “‘It’s not how many times you get knocked down that count, it’s how many times you get back up.’ Are you sufficiently recovered, ‘Freaky Raptor Guy’?”

Garrus watched the first human Spectre’s eyes dance as she smothered a giggle. “Hey, only Shepard gets to call me that!” he complained. “But, yeah, bring it, Snake Man.” Then he dropped his voice to a very low rumble their human friend couldn’t hear. “And you’re the one who’s not down for the count yet, so let’s see how you handle Shepard in those shorts.”

 “Arashu help us all,” Thane whispered.

* * *

  **Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**

 


	6. Mercs and Mechs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard, Garrus and Thane set out to handle some troublesome Blue Suns--and discover not even Shepard's plans are always foolproof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

“This better be worth postponing Tali’s pick up,” Garrus grumbled from his seat on _Normandy_ ’s shuttle. He rolled his shoulders and stretched out one leg with what looked like a grimace. “After the way Snake Man here enjoyed knocking me on my ass yesterday—”

Thane opened his mouth to speak, but the turian cut him off. “And don’t even think about apologizing. I’m not some new recruit who can’t handle it.”

“You sure are grumpy today, Garrus,” Shepard commented. “I thought all that natural armor plating kept the bruises away.” He just glared at her, blue eyes hard and focused, daring her to persist with the teasing.

She grinned but relented. “I miss Tali, too, you know. The travel delay sucks. But you heard the briefing—”

“It’s not that I miss her,” Garrus broke in, flustered. “Well, I do, but not…‘miss her’ miss her. That way.”

“What way might that be?” Thane inquired with his typical neutrality.

The turian scowled at the snipers sitting across from him. “We’re not doing this,” he flatly stated.

“Doing what?” Shepard asked, wide-eyed. Thane looked on with a small smile he couldn’t quite stifle.

Garrus tried to carry on his intimidation tactic until he couldn’t keep his mandibles from twitching. He finally broke into rusty chuckles, camaraderie restored. “Alright, alright. I know. Someone has to stop the Blue Suns, and the Terminus isn’t exactly under Council or Alliance jurisdiction. It’s just…bad timing. But you’re right, we can’t let them carry on with this scam. Luring in ships with a fake distress call and sensor interference? Business must be slow—mercs didn’t used to be so creative.”

His tone grew more somber. “But we’re going in blind, Shepard. Whatever tech they have access to is so advanced it’s messing with even our scans. You’re a planner, a tactician. Your usual approach requires intel. And we don’t have it.”

“Setting down on Sanctum in ten minutes,” Joker announced over the shuttle’s comm system. “This signal’s a pain in the ass, Commander. Cerberus’s Talking Toy says the interference is going to cut off remote contact with _Normandy_ as you approach the source, so we’re switching you over to the standard VI autopilot now. That way we can avoid things like, you know, you crashing into mountains and stuff.”

“Uh, thanks?” Shepard replied.

“I am not a ‘toy,’ Mr. Moreau. I am a highly-advanced cyberwarfare intelligence system,” EDI corrected. “Continued efforts to penetrate the interference have revealed additional data, Shepard. An empty landing pad is available 30 meters outside the mining complex. Rock formations between it and the main entrance will provide some cover as you exit the shuttle.

“I would advise preparing for large groups of hostiles,” she continued. “Increased detail shows numerous life signs throughout the complex and attached mine. Despite my superior decryption and hacking protocols, however, I remain unable to deactivate the masking signal via remote access. This prevents a more thorough analysis of mercenary numbers and the structure they inhabit.”

“No wonder those freighters fell for the trap, Commander,” Joker chimed in. “They never stood a chance against these guys. Sorry we can’t do better.”

“Thanks for the update, you two. That’s more than we knew 30 minutes ago.” Shepard set aside her laughter at the teasing and bickering and put on her game face as she turned to Thane and Garrus. “Looks like we won’t have to fight over kill shots today. Intel from the _MSV Strontium Mule_ suggests we’ll see some higher-ups here, including the sector commander, a Captain Narom. That’ll mean better armor, better shields, and probably barriers on the leaders, maybe even some heavy mechs. But Garrus is right—we lack the specs we’re used to having.”

The link to _Normandy_ dissolved into static, so the three of them switched off their feeds. Shepard’s gaze shifted to a point on the shuttle’s bulkhead, brow crinkling. Garrus and Thane waited, accustomed to her mental sifting of info as she updated their plan. After a moment she nodded to herself and looked at her squad. “Okay. Before you two go through that front door, I’m taking point. I’ll go in cloaked and scout out the logistical data we’re missing.”

“Shepard!” they both protested.

Thane inclined his head toward Garrus. “It’s one thing for you to cloak when you’ve got some idea what to expect,” the turian said, “but we’ve got nothing here, Shepard. You could walk right into a wall of mercs at close range.”

“If that happens, I’ll stay cloaked and backtrack to you. We’ll use that info to come up with a more viable alternative.” She frowned, irritated. “Lack of intel is precisely why I should do my ghost thing. The cloak puts me at less risk than either of you. Come on, how many times have we done this?”

“You do rush in where most angels fear to tread,” Thane observed, a little hesitant. She jerked in surprise; the assassin wasn’t one to argue with command decisions. “Forgive the comparison, Shepard. You’re a clever strategist, and your intuition rarely leads you wrong. But this mission…troubles me. ‘I have a bad feeling about this’ seems appropriate.”

“I’m with Thane,” Garrus agreed. “The shuttle’s communication system is one thing. We could end up in real trouble if that signal messes with our personal comm connections to each other. If you go ghost with no comm support and something happens… . It’s too risky, Shepard. None of us should go out of visual range without audio backup.” Thane’s troubled expression showed he shared the concern.

“Alright,” she conceded. “We’ll double check our comms when we’re on the ground. Make it a priority to stay in tight formation whenever possible. But do either of you have a better, safer entry plan than mine?”

She watched them struggle for a few moments with the urge to argue further—and the knowledge she’d hand them their heads if they tried. “Didn’t think so. Grab your gear. We’ll be groundside in five.”

“And Thane?” She grinned before checking her weapons. “You have to stop giving me easy Earth quotes. Yesterday’s inspiring words to Garrus came from General Custer. The ‘angels fear to tread’ bit is from Alexander Pope, and ‘bad feeling’ is a running _Star Wars_ gag line. Make the next one a little tougher, okay?”

“You two are strange,” Garrus muttered.

Thane hummed in pleasure, but his eyes remained worried—and on Shepard—as they prepped for landing and combat.

***

Waves of mercs greeted the shuttle’s arrival, armed with the better protection Shepard had predicted. The signal meant to fool ships in orbit didn’t affect the trio’s comms, however, and they slipped into their practiced battle rhythm with ease. Barriers were no match for Garrus’s concussive rounds and Thane’s biotics. Enemies with shields found them quickly drained or overloaded. Once protections went down, Shepard incinerated armor without mercy. Kill shots were up to whoever could claim them, and competition was fierce. “Scoped and dropped!” Garrus crowed as the final merc fell.

Shepard’s reconnaissance didn’t uncover anything unusual, but it did determine the complex was primarily made up of large, open, common areas with plenty of cover. She rejoined her team and led them into the first room, directing Thane to hang back with her to snipe while Garrus took point. They had nearly finished off a group of Blue Suns when a second wave arrived.

“Look, Ghoth—it’s the little Mindoir bitch!”

“Who, Kherk? You mean the one who ruined Balak’s revenge on Terra Nova!? I thought she was dead.”

Kherk spat out Shepard’s name. “She should be dead! Or in a slave pen. Or taking my cock like a good whore. Any of those work for me.”

Garrus stole a glimpse at his friends. Shepard vibrated with suppressed fury, maintaining just enough control to stay behind protection. Thane looked detached. Cold. Deadly.

A third batarian poked his head just above cover to sneak a peek at the commander. “We’d make a killing selling her at auction to—”

His skull exploded into red mist.

Shepard’s eyes jerked to Thane, who remained intent on the batarians while reloading, watching for more mistakes. “Fantasize all you want, assholes,” she yelled. “Happy last thoughts, ’cause none of you are walking out of here.” She nodded to her squad, then unleashed incinerate blasts to startle the batarians out of cover.

“Your body is dust,” Thane intoned as he silenced Kherk with another head shot.

After they cleared the room, Shepard paced to work out her rage. “Fuck! You two take any damage? No? Good. Every time I figure I’m over my problem with batarians, I run into jerks like those. I know they aren’t all like that. But…damn.”

Thane nodded, hands at his side. Garrus noticed they glowed a faint blue and lifted a brow plate in surprise—the drell hadn’t used his biotics during the faceoff. As he watched, Thane stretched and flexed his fingers into full extension before curling them tight, repeating the action several times until the charge faded.

Meanwhile, the commander began a rhythmic mantra under her breath as she strode. “. أنا هادئة و السيطرة على نفسيTá mé calma agus féin-rialú. Я спокойна и владею собой. . أنا هادئة و السيطرة على نفسيTá mé calma agus féin-rialú. Я спокойна и владею собой. . أنا هادئة و السيطرة على نفسيTá mé calma agus féin-rialú. Я спокойна и владею собой.”

Thane watched Garrus lean against a wall to wait it out and joined him, murmuring, “I’ve not seen Shepard so angered during a mission. What is she doing?”

“You meditate. She walks and mutters,” Garrus replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “She’s done it as long as I’ve known her. Told me her mother encouraged it as a tool to get a better handle on her temper. My translation program doesn’t include all the Earth languages she speaks, but she usually relies on the phrase ‘I am calm and self-controlled’ to pull herself back together. Doesn’t take long, normally.”

Thane cocked a brow.

“You haven’t seen it before because you don’t piss her off for fun like I do,” Garrus added with a chuckle. “It’s rare she needs it on a mission.”

Shepard rolled her shoulders and loosened her neck, then took a deep breath before looking at her team. “Thanks for giving me a moment. Let’s move out.”

The trio relaxed enough to snicker at a message describing an “unplanned expansion” of a mining tunnel into the dining area. After clearing the mess hall of Blue Suns, they used the tunnel to access the mine, making note of resources to pick up at the end of the mission. From there, they worked their way to a door that appeared to lead out of the mine into a different section of the complex.

“Shepard, about that bad feeling… .” Garrus began.

“I’m right with you, big guy,” she acknowledged. “This next room is not going to be fun. Is your omnitool detecting anything? Or yours, Thane?”

Garrus tapped away for a moment. “Scans are still fuzzy, but I’m sure there’s a mech signature in there. Your instincts were right, as usual.”

“My readings are too distorted to ID,” she stated. “We must be close to the origin of that damn signal.”

“I agree,” Thane said. “My scans for mechanical energy are scrambled beyond recognition. …Perhaps my omnitool is in need of calibration?”

Garrus looked at Thane and shook his head.

“Come on, back on task,” the commander ordered, fighting down a smile. “With what you see, Garrus, you thinking LOKIs or a BGDM?”

“Pretty sure it’s a Big God Damn Mech, Shepard,” he answered. “Sorry, I know you love those.”

“They’re not too bad when we can prepare for them,” she replied. “Okay, back to the same plan as before. You two hold back while I cloak and scout out what we’re really facing.”

“Liking it even less than I did the first time,” Garrus grated. “You know a heavy mech could lock onto you even with your cloak.”

The commander looked up at the tall turian, assessing. Finally she turned to the assassin. “Give us a couple of minutes, please?”

With a nod, Thane went to seek out the resources they had discovered throughout the mine, shifting what could be carried to a central location for easier pickup.

Once he walked a good distance away, Shepard’s concern surfaced. “Garrus, what’s going on?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure, Morgan. Don’t hit me, but I want to pick you up and carry you the hell out of here.”

“Your armor would be really uncomfortable for me,” she countered with a smile. “Have Thane do the carrying.”

Garrus actually growled and took a step closer. “Don’t blow this off. I’m serious.”

Shepard’s eyes widened but she held her ground. “I can see that. And you need to calm down.”

After a moment Garrus released a breath, turned around, and took a few steps. “Thanks,” Shepard said. “You know you make my neck ache when you loom over me like that.”

He looked back over his shoulder with a smirk. “That’s because you’re short.”

“The galaxy thanks you for stating the obvious, Freaky Raptor Guy.” After a few moments, Shepard strode around to face him and placed a hand on his arm. “Talk to me, Garrus.”

He closed his eyes as he exhaled a deep breath. “There’s something about this situation, Morgan…it reminds me of when I rejoined you after Omega.” Garrus opened his eyes and watched for her reaction to his words. “We didn’t really talk about it, but you…weren’t okay. Who would be, with everything that happened and how you woke up? Not to mention your feelings about Cerberus?”

Shepard stiffened and removed her hand but didn’t reply. “You don’t like to give up control, so I didn’t worry about alcohol or drugs,” he continued. “But on the battlefield… . For a while, you were reckless—really reckless—and that’s never been your MO. I was afraid you might be...Spirits, I don’t know…doing it on purpose, I guess. So I tried to anticipate the problem, so I could…you know…stop it.”

“Oh. Fuck.” Shepard looked down, fingers instinctively clutching and tangling each other. “I…damn. I…I don’t know what to say, Garrus. …Fuck.”

She paced rapidly in front of him, hands still meshed and twisting. “I can’t say you were wrong. I was pretty messed up for a while, though I never…you know…consciously thought about… .”

Shepard sighed as she stopped and looked back up. Returning her hand, she gave his arm a squeeze. “I’m so sorry I put you in that position, Garrus. But Omega was more than two months ago. You know I’ve been feeling a lot better lately. More like…me. And having you back in my life is a big part of that.”

“That’s the part I can’t explain, Morgan,” he rasped with frustration. “I can tell you’re…better. When we were laughing over those datapads last week, you looked happy, despite all this Cerberus crap. I don’t know why I’m feeling this way again. And I don’t like it.”

Shepard gazed up at her best friend. “Okay, I get it. Even if you can’t pin it down, something is tripping your alarms. And I trust your instincts. So what’s your suggestion for proceeding?”

He put his talons over Shepard’s hand and pressed gently before letting go. “Thanks, Morgan. Let’s get Thane back over here and put our heads together.”

“Sounds good,” she agreed.

As they started walking toward the assassin, Garrus shot her a piercing glance.

“What?” Shepard asked.

“Hmm. Will it still ‘sound good’ when I tell you Snake Man heard all that? Drell senses are almost as sharp as turian.”

“Um, his hearing is that keen?” she gulped, turning a bit pink. “Oh. Well…what’s done is done. I’m okay if he caught that talk. I trust him. I mean, it doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“I didn’t throw out a casual ‘Have Thane do the carrying,’ did I?” Garrus smugly replied.

“I need to toss you out the airlock once we’re back on _Normandy_ ,” Shepard groused.

Thane looked up as they approached. “My apologies for overhearing, Shepard. You were so well-versed in drell physiology when I was first recruited, I didn’t realize you were unaware of my sensory capabilities.”

“Just a little surprised by the range, Thane. No harm done,” Shepard reassured.

“Thank you,” he replied with a slight bow. As he looked up again, he gave her a half-smile. “And if you ever need or wish to be carried, Shepard, I’ll remember that you prefer my arms to Garrus’s.”

Shepard didn’t hear the supportive, amused rumble sent from turian to drell. “I can’t believe I set myself up like this by bringing you two as a team,” she complained. “Now play nice or I’ll break up the band.”

“No, you won’t,” Garrus contradicted with certainty.

“Yeah, you’re right, I probably won’t,” she confessed with a quick grin before shifting back into combat mode. “But let’s talk about that next room and our scanning problems. Wait…if we just skip the tech interference…go old school… . Do you two think you can hear through the door? Relying just on your own senses?”

A few minutes later, Garrus and Thane had taken turns making physical contact with the metal door that led out of the mine.

“I hear heavy, mechanical footsteps, Shepard. Uneven ones. We’re definitely dealing with a BGDM,” Garrus reported. “Probably two. And with the way the sounds echo, I think we’re looking at another big room.”

“I concur,” Thane added. “The sound and vibration levels support both possibilities. I didn’t sense any organic activity—no talking, footsteps, or other movement. It’s probable the Blue Suns will hold back, perhaps in a room beyond this one, hoping the mechs will finish us.”

“Great work,” Shepard complimented. “I’d have hated the surprise of walking in on two heavy mechs. And the mercs hanging back is good news.”

She closed her eyes as she concentrated, taking a few slow steps. “I still need to be first through the door. I don’t see a way around it. We know nothing about available cover—that’s crucial with big mechs in the equation. And ‘echo’ worries me. Empty spaces echo.”

She stopped at an audible grumble from Garrus and held up her palm to forestall his objection. “You’ve already shared your concerns. Let’s talk strategy to take down those mechs.” The turian clicked his mandibles in displeasure but let it go.

“Thane, you faced mechs when working solo, right?” she inquired.

“You are correct, Shepard, but my previous experiences wouldn’t apply to this operation,” he stated. “I was trained to avoid mechs through stealth or to snipe them from extreme range. They never registered my presence. Neither approach is possible here.”

“Different situation, different tactics,” Shepard replied with a nod. “And being part of a team adds a few twists. If you’ve never fought heavy mechs up close, you need to know BGDMs target enemy biotics first, techs second. Make sure you’re secure in heavy cover before drawing attention to yourself with warp or throw.

“Most importantly, these sons of bitches blow up. A killing headshot triggers a massive explosion lethal to those within blast range. Always check to ensure colleagues are behind heavy cover before taking a mech down. If the mercs engage before we’ve taken both BGDMs out, try to time a killing headshot for when the big boom might catch as many Blue Suns as possible.

“Are we ready to do this?” she asked, eyeing her squad.

Garrus still looked reluctant.

“Come on, big guy,” she prodded. “In just an hour or two we’ll be back on _Normandy_ , and you’ll be able to brag how your super-powered hearing saved my ass.”

“Alright, Shepard, you win,” he conceded. “…As long as I get bragging rights.”

“Deal,” she agreed. “Hang back, and don’t do anything to bring the mechs toward the entrance until I’m in cover. If I decide cover is a bust, I’ll withdraw, and we’ll see about luring them out here to us.” With that, she enabled her tactical cloak and disappeared.

As soon as the doors opened, someone—presumably Captain Narom—threatened over the PA, “Whoever you are, you won’t make it out of here alive!”

“Spirits, what is it with mercs who love the sound of their own voice?” Garrus muttered.

Shepard smiled as she made her way down the ramp and into the room. “Two BGDMs along north wall,” she whispered over her comm link. “Three doors behind them. Two open, middle locked. I’d bet the equipment we’re looking for is in the middle, Blue Suns on either side.

“Good—lots of heavy-duty metal containers,” she continued. “Random placement around southern third of the room. Great cover, explains the echoes. 

“Two raised storage platforms against west wall, narrow set of stairs between. Heavy mechs can’t do stairs, Thane. Steps blocked by a lightweight wooden crate, but I can take that out. Both areas hold sky-cars and more wooden crates. 

“I’ll take position on the forward platform behind a sky-car. Heading out…now!”

She dashed across the room to the platform stairs. Shooting the crate finished her cloak and drew the attention and firepower of the BGDMs. She hustled into heavy cover with only minor damage to her shields and tossed an energy drain at the closest mech.

The mechs fired on her and tried to approach, but the platform and sky-car kept her safe. “Okay, mechs are focused on me. Garrus, stay on south side of the room, main floor, behind any metal container. Go!”

The second mech noticed the new arrival and shifted that direction, but Shepard hit it with disruptor ammo to regain its focus. Garrus got into cover and opened fire with his assault rifle, but the mechs remained fixated on Shepard’s combination of tech and Widow attacks. “Garrus, don’t draw attention with overload unless you have to. Get ready to cover Thane.”

“In position and ready,” the turian replied, whittling down the shields of the first mech.

“Thane, get to the other raised storage area,” she ordered. “No biotics until you’re behind a sky-car. Go!”

The mechs made his move easy by continuing to target Shepard. “In position, in heavy cover,” Thane reported.

“Roger that,” Garrus acknowledged.

“Check,” Shepard responded. “Let’s take these things down. Now, Thane!”

Their strategy worked perfectly. On the commander’s order, Thane unleashed his biotics to control the mechs’ attention and draw them to his corner. Shepard and Garrus, free to attack at will, depleted their shields with tech and weapons fire. After a few minutes, Shepard incinerated the last of one mech’s armor and hacked it, turning it on its twin.

She failed to anticipate three things, however. First, that she would need to leave the sky-car’s protection to maintain line of sight once the mechs moved toward Thane. Second, that the mechs would migrate back her direction once they started to fight each other. And third, that Narom would take advantage of the situation.

Thane noticed the danger first. “Shepard, heavy cover!”

His cry came a split second too late. The merc fired his pistol at the head of the hacked mech, triggering a Cain-like detonation. The force destroyed its twin and disintegrated the wooden crates Shepard had been using for cover. Her body flew like a thrown ragdoll and slammed against the west wall before falling behind a sky-car.

“Morgan!” Garrus bounded from cover but was forced back as Blue Suns poured out of the back rooms and opened fire.

“Garrus, stop!” Thane commanded. “Hostiles first. Starting with that captain.” He punctuated his statement by warping Narom’s barrier.

“Affirmative,” Garrus growled, before killing two mercs who were attempting to reach Shepard. “Sending a concussive shot…now.” A moment later the barrier was gone.

“Embrace Kalahira!” Thane yelled, as he threw a cluster of mercs trying to flank Garrus. One by one he killed them with his Viper.

Able to focus on Narom, Garrus overloaded his shields and broke through his armor. “You’re going down, you bastard,” he seethed. Another concussive shot and the merc hit the ground, disarmed. Garrus strode up and shot him between the eyes with a sidearm— _thwip_ —before he even knew what was happening.

The assassin had the rest of the Blue Suns disposed of by the time Archangel finished off their leader. Both sheathed their weapons and rushed to Shepard, leaping obstacles in the way. Thane reached her a moment before Garrus and gasped as he saw the commander covered in debris. Limp and unconscious. Blood pooling beneath her leg.

A lot of blood. 

* * *

**Notes:**

Morgan’s calming mantra repeats the same phrase in Arabic, Irish, and Russian: “I am calm and self-controlled.”

I tweaked some little game details. I added my own take on how heavy mechs prioritize targets—but not how they explode. That’s BioWare. And the corner where Thane takes cover is inaccessible in the actual game.

**Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


	7. Medics and Med Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thane and Garrus scramble to save Shepard and get her to Dr. Chakwas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

Garrus switched on his ship feed. “Joker! This is Garrus, do you read?”

Static.

“Damn it, Joker, do you read?” he snarled. “Thane, that signal has to go before we can call the shuttle to evacuate Morgan.”

Thane finished removing debris and winced as he assessed Shepard’s condition. “Communication with the doctor takes priority,” he said, stripping the armor from her injured leg as quickly as he dared. “You handle the mercs’ equipment. I’ll try to stabilize Shepard.”

“On it,” Garrus acknowledged.

His solution was louder than Thane expected. The crackle of disrupted power provided little warning as the console blew with a sudden “whaamp!” Thane jerked and scanned over his shoulder just in time to watch Garrus swing over a railing, plate glass shattering behind him.

“Scratch one!” he shouted.

Within moments, the link crackled and Joker’s voice rang over their comms. “—pard? Commander? Garrus? Thane? Come on, guys, this is getting—”

“We’re here, Joker,” Garrus cut in, terse and anxious. “Get Chakwas on the channel. Shepard is down. Have EDI direct the shuttle to the coordinates I’m sending.”

“What happ—” Joker began. “Never mind. Shuttle never left the planet, just moved off to a safe distance. Sending it to the pick-up coordinates now. And the doc’ll—”

“The doctor is on the line, Joker,” Chakwas calmly stated. “Fill me in, gentlemen.”

Garrus paced nearby as Thane recounted the combat and explosion. “Shepard was thrown about 4 meters and hit a wall at significant speed. She’s been unconscious since the blast, about…twelve minutes. The back of her head was unprotected and has a sizable knot but no sponginess. The more immediate danger is an injury to her left leg. There is extensive blood loss…it’s pooling underneath her, Doctor. Have you regained access to our medical readouts?”

“Yes,” the doctor acknowledged. “She’s in shock. Her BP is dangerously low. Are you applying pressure to the wound?”

“I’ve not yet found the source, Doctor,” Thane admitted. “I’m cutting away the leg of her under-suit now. Gods…Arashu, no.”

“Thane, I need you to remain calm and keep your hands steady,” Chakwas told him. “Most of all, I need your mind clear.”

Thane inhaled and exhaled deeply. Garrus muttered something to his Spirits.

“There is a piece of shrapnel protruding from Shepard’s thigh,” Thane described, his voice uneven. “It likely pierced the knee joint of her armor as she was thrown and slid in at an angle. Blood loss…is a steady seeping rather than spraying or spurting, but…the location and volume indicate a major artery might be damaged. I can’t see how deeply the shard penetrates. I fear displacing it could increase her bleeding.”

“And with the protrusion, you can’t apply direct pressure,” Chakwas added. “You need a tourniquet. Quickly, find a sturdy but flexible material, at least 6 to 8 cm wide and long enough to wrap around her thigh above the wound—with enough left over to create a windlass for tightening.”

“The seatbelts in the sky-cars,” Garrus offered. “Would those work?”

“Nearly ideal,” the doctor replied. “If the buckle mechanism includes a slide latch, you might not need the windlass. Go. Now.”

Garrus hacked the lock on the nearest vehicle and began cutting the driver’s-side belt. He glanced over the seat as Thane leaned into the back, hands starting to glow blue. The drell tore out both sides of the center seatbelt and then took a deep breath. His biotics dimmed.

“Give me a minute,” Garrus asked, holding his hand out for Thane’s belt and latch. “I think I can use the back slide latch on the longer length from the front seat.”

As he worked with the belts, Thane again knelt by Shepard and prayed. A moment later, Garrus handed the strap back. “Pretty sure that will work as the doctor wants.”

“Good work, Garrus,” Chakwas said briskly as Thane nodded in agreement. “Now, slip the belt under her thigh and tighten it until the bleeding stops. That is absolutely critical—you must stop all bleeding. A tourniquet that isn’t tight enough won’t save her life. Tell me when it’s in place.”

“Kalahira, have mercy… . Garrus, your med kit—does it contain anything to wipe away the blood while I tighten?” Thane asked. “There’s so much, I…I can’t tell whether her bleeding is slowing.”

The turian produced two antiseptic wipes and opened the packages. As his talons neared Shepard’s thigh, Thane cautioned, “Just around the edges of the wound. Keep clear of the shrapnel.” Garrus blew out a nervous gust of air and went to work.

Three tense minutes passed before Thane announced the bleeding had stopped. “Alright, onto the next step,” the doctor replied. “Get Shepard to the shuttle quickly but carefully, moving her leg as little as possible. Splint her knee if you can so it doesn’t flex. We don’t want the shrapnel to shift position and cause further damage.”

After splinting the limb with slats from a destroyed crate and the unused seat belts, Thane gently lifted Shepard as Garrus safeguarded her leg.

“And she isn’t even awake to appreciate being carried by you,” Garrus mumbled. “She’ll be sorry she missed it.”

Thane smiled sadly at the woman in his arms. “You can tease her about it later.”

EDI had the shuttle waiting just outside the mine. As they settled the commander on a bench seat, Garrus shook his head with a sigh. “Spirits, seeing her like this—I know I tease her about her size, but most of the time I forget how small she really is. She seems so…fragile.”

“You forget because she has the strongest will of anyone we’ve ever met,” Chakwas replied over the shuttle’s comm. “We’ll get her through this, Garrus. Her blood pressure’s no longer dropping, which is good news. Now open the shuttle’s med kit and find the medi-gel. Apply it around the edges of the wound without disturbing the shrapnel.”

“You’d better do it, Thane,” Garrus admitted. “I’m getting some post-combat shakes.”

“Thane, after you’ve stabilized the commander, I want you to look at Garrus,” Chakwas instructed. “His readings aren’t quite normal. He doesn’t usually crash this way after missions.”

A few moments later Thane reported that the medi-gel application was complete. “Shall I check Garrus now, Doctor?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she replied. “Your ETA back to _Normandy_ is 40 minutes. Make sure the commander isn’t jostled during takeoff, then please see to Garrus.”

“I believe I already know the cause of his shakiness, Doctor,” Thane stated as they braced Shepard during lift off. “There is a trail of blood leading down the back of his armor. Flying debris likely struck his neck.”

“Damn, thought I felt something hit me when I blew that console,” Garrus griped. “Some glass must’ve gotten me between the plates. I probably only need medi-gel.”

Thane turned to his friend, dry amusement returning to his voice. “Let me examine it, Garrus. Shepard is far easier and more pleasant to carry than you’d be. If you lose consciousness, I’ll leave you on the shuttle for Grunt to haul.”

“Would you really choose Shepard over me? Never mind—stupid question.” Garrus sighed, “Go ahead. Poke and prod my neck. I’ll keep an eye on Shepard.”

Thane spent several minutes inspecting and cleaning the site. “There is a small but deep cut between two of your plates. I can’t detect whether any glass remains inside the wound. The doctor will have to determine that,” he explained. “Dr. Chakwas, did you copy?” 

“Yes. I get the distinct impression you’ve treated your own injuries any number of times, Thane,” Chakwas replied shrewdly. “Apply medi-gel as close to the wound as his plates will allow, and follow that up with a patch to protect the area. That will suffice until you arrive.”

Thane followed her instructions and was soon finished.

“The two of you have done excellent work today,” the doctor informed them, “but you’re both pushing your physiological limits. As much as you might not want to, you need to eat and drink something. That’s a medical directive. Don’t think I won’t report you to Shepard if you don’t comply.

“I’m going to sign off to consult with Ms. Lawson about Shepard’s injuries and her cybernetics,” she concluded. “If you need me, inform Joker. And Garrus, Thane—you’ve taken very good care of the commander. Please take care of yourselves now. Chakwas out.”

Garrus turned to Thane. “I don’t know about you, but eating something right now is about the least appealing thing I can think of.”

Thane sat still, staring at the blood on his hands. Shepard’s blood. “I concur,” he replied, “but the doctor is correct. I used my biotics far more than usual today, and I admit to feeling the effects. But the thought of holding food…with this hand.” His voice faded out and he closed his eyes.

_“My hands…covered in her blood. So much blood. A thick sheen across her hands, arms, face. Oceans of teal beneath an obscene mask of red… .”_

Garrus gazed at Thane, startled and concerned. “Let me get you some wipes, Thane,” he counseled. When his friend didn’t respond, he reached into the shuttle’s emergency stores for cleansing wipes, water tubes, and both dextro and levo energy bars. He unwrapped one of the wipes and offered it to Thane. “Here, take this.”

Thane opened his eyes and blinked his inner eyelids at Garrus several times. “I…apologize. I…didn’t intend to share that. Powerful or vivid memories can sometimes…engulf me.”

He took the cloth and began wiping away Shepard’s bloodstains. “My thanks,” he murmured.

Garrus nodded and then traded Thane the used wipes for a water tube and energy bar. They ate and drank in silence, neither taking his eyes off Shepard.

***

Ten minutes later, they were halfway back to _Normandy_. Thane gazed with worry at Shepard and murmured a quiet prayer. Chakwas had checked in a few minutes ago to report her vitals were stable. Yet, nearly 45 minutes after the blast, she showed no signs of awakening.

Just then the commander moaned. “Joker, Shepard is regaining consciousness. Notify Chakwas,” Thane directed.

“You got it,” Joker acknowledged.

“Garrus, she’ll likely try to move,” Thane continued. “We must restrain her until she understands what’s occurred. I have her shoulders—”

“And I’ll take her feet,” Garrus volunteered. “Good call, Thane.”

Shepard began tossing her head, took a shocked, deep breath, and stiffened in obvious distress. “Shepard,” Thane coaxed. “Shepard, look at me. Look at me.” Her eyes opened and slowly turned toward his face, stunned and confused.

“Good, Commander,” he commended. “We know you’re in pain. Focus on my voice. Focus, Shepard,” he repeated, waiting for some of the confusion to abate. “You’ve been injured and need to stay still. Focus on my voice and breathe with me until Dr. Chakwas joins us over the comm.”

“I’m here, Thane,” came the doctor’s reassuringly brisk tone. “Welcome back, Commander. I’m ordering your suit to release a moderate dose of a mild analgesic into your system. I’ll be performing surgery very soon after you arrive, and stronger pain meds—like the custom formula I developed for you—can interfere with general anesthesia. But if you allow Thane to help you relax, the pain should ease shortly.”

“I…I know…I prob’ly won’t remember…later… ,” Shepard gasped, “but talk to me anyway… . Tell me what happened… . Give me something…to focus on.”

“Keep breathing with me, and we’ll attempt to satisfy even your curiosity,” Thane soothed. “Take a breath. Release. Slow and even.”

Beads of sweat shone on Shepard’s face as she mimicked Thane. Jaw clenched, she forced her breathing to keep time with his.

“That’s it, Shepard. What’s the last thing you remember?” Thane asked, easing off her shoulders and picking up one of her hands. He stroked it gently, in rhythm with their breathing.

“You two did your…listening at the door thing… . I entered the room to scout… . Then…nothing,” she admitted.

“You know how concussions work, Morgan,” Garrus rumbled. “The more you push, the more it hurts. You’ll get back at least some of the lost time.”

Shepard tried a small grin. “Damn it…I know I must’ve gotten carried out of there…but I don’t remember.” The pain forced a grimace, but her smile returned. “Better have been Thane…or I’ll have extra bruises from your armor, Garrus.”

Thane flashed a half-smile. “You will have so many bruises tomorrow, Shepard, I doubt there would be a difference.”

“You’re probably…right,” she acknowledged. “Hmm. Meds…kicking in… . Getting sleepy. So what…happened? …Suns dead? Signal must be down…since we’re on the shuttle.”

“There were two heavy mechs, Morgan, just like we thought. You managed to hack the first one when its armor went down,” Garrus recounted. “I’ve never seen two BGDMs fight each other. Loud and scary pretty much sums it up. Not sure if my visor recorded any of it with the signal interference, but I hope so. Anyway, Narom took out the one you hacked with a head shot. You got caught in the blast, and here we are.”

Shepard was starting to fade. “I trust…you made him regret…that decision?”

“Let’s just say I won’t be winning any popularity contests with the Blue Suns,” Garrus assured her. “Doc, is it safe for her to doze off?”

“Yes,” she replied. “In fact, transfer from the shuttle to med bay will be much easier if she is unaware of the pain.”

“I…heard…that,” Shepard murmured, even though her eyes were closed.

“Shh, Shepard. Let everything go,” Thane whispered. “We’re here. You are safe.” She mumbled something unintelligible in reply, and Thane felt her hand go slack.

***

Another twenty minutes passed before the shuttle docked and Thane carried an unconscious Shepard into med bay. As promised, Chakwas had everything ready for surgery, with Miranda prepped as her assistant. Once Thane placed his burden on the table, Chakwas gestured toward Garrus.

“Before you go, let me see your neck,” she requested. The turian obeyed, bending at the waist toward her. “Good, the bleeding has stopped and the patch is holding. It will make it through a shower. Now, the two of you need to leave. I’ll be with her for at least an hour, maybe a little longer. Get cleaned up and grab something better than energy bars to eat. Then I want you back here so I can check you over. Both of you,” she directed at Thane. “Now shoo. The longer you linger, the longer she waits for my care.”

Garrus and Thane stepped outside med bay and dawdled until the windows blacked out on privacy mode. Only when Mess Sergeant Gardner called out did they turn with reluctance toward the galley counter.

“The doctor told me you fellas would be needing a good meal,” he confided. “I’ve already got some of your favorites heating up. Why don’t you hit the showers while I finish getting it all ready?”

Garrus found his voice first. “Appreciate it, Rupert. We’ll be back soon.”

By the time they returned, a crowd had gathered despite the late hour. Garrus and Thane sat with their food in silence and made half-hearted attempts at eating. Jack and Grunt paced nearby, while Samara tried to exert a calming influence over the rest of a fidgety crew. Finally the med bay privacy screen dropped. All eyes went to the corner bed, where a shock of red hair was just visible amidst a sea of white sheets and blankets.

A minute later, Dr. Chakwas entered the mess hall. “Garrus, Thane, I’d like to examine you now. As for the rest of you, there’s no need to hover. Shepard is going to be fine—she’ll just have another new scar. Every one of you knows nothing keeps her down for long.

“Gentlemen,” she said, as she invited them back into her domain.

Miranda walked out as they entered. “Good night, Dr. Chakwas. Thane, Garrus—your handling of Shepard was surprisingly competent, considering the circumstances. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

“Good night, Miranda. Thank you for the assist,” Dr. Chakwas acknowledged.

Once the doors closed behind the Cerberus agent, the doctor went to work. “Garrus, sit in the chair by my desk so I can actually see that neck of yours. Thane, you can have a seat on that first bed. And don’t argue about preferring to stand. You’ll just end up sitting there anyway.”

Neither moved, both gazing at the small form on the far bed.

“Staring will not treat that neck wound, Garrus. Shepard isn’t going anywhere for a while; she’s still unconscious from the anesthesia. If you follow my instructions, you may talk to her when she wakes. For now, please sit.”

They both finally took their seats, and Garrus bent his head to make his neck easier to access. “How is she really, Doc?”

Chakwas peeled off the medi-gel patch and began scanning the wound. “Just as I said, Garrus, Shepard will be fine. In fact, she could be up and walking tomorrow. You and Thane saved her life with that tourniquet. The shrapnel nicked her femoral artery. But thanks to your efforts, my repair work was fairly straightforward and anticlimactic.”

She focused on her examination for a moment. “Garrus, you’ve got a shard of your own, a small glass one. It’s rather deep, so I’m going to give you something for pain before I go after it. And because turian skin doesn’t approve of the only wound sealant I’ve on hand, I’ll need to give you a couple of stitches.”

“How serious is Shepard’s head injury, Doctor?” Thane asked, watching as Chakwas prepared an injection for Garrus.

“Just a moment, Thane. Alright, Garrus. Small pinch,” she warned.

“Spirits! Why do doctors always say that? It’s never a ‘small’ pinch,” Garrus complained. “And if that’s the same stuff you’ve given me before, you know it’ll knock me out.”

“You’ve had a long day,” she placated. “I know it was daylight on Sanctum, but it’s 2200 ship time. Sleep is just what you need. I’m going to take a look at Thane while we give the injection a few minutes to work.

“So, the commander’s head injury,” she began, turning toward Thane. “I confirmed that there was no sponginess or softness to indicate major damage to the skull. My scans show she doesn’t even have a hairline crack. Both of you can tease her—when she’s better—about her hard head. She has some mild swelling, so I’ll keep an eye on her overnight and check her again in the morning.”

She resumed caring for Garrus while carrying on with her explanation. “She’ll probably have a bad headache that will persist for a few days and perhaps some nausea, but Miranda says the cybernetics are likely to speed up healing. And she’ll have extensive and uncomfortable bruising on her back and hips from the impact after she was thrown. She’ll need complete rest—preferably bed rest—for at least 48 hours, perhaps longer depending on the cybernetics and whether I can find a way to make her comply. I’d appreciate your assistance—both of you—in getting her to take it easy.

“All in all, gentleman,” she concluded, as she pulled the shard from Garrus’s wound with long, thin tweezers, “she was very lucky. If I know Shepard, she’ll be complaining about my mother hen tendencies within 24 hours.”

“Nah-uh, Doc,” came a voice from the jumble of sheets. It was a little slurred but undeniably Shepard’s. “You…don’t get that long.”

“Don’t move, Commander. I mean it,” Chakwas ordered. “Thane, the mess hall has cleared out, so go ahead and remove a blanket or two, if you would. She doesn’t like the weight and might struggle to get them off herself. Shepard, Garrus here took a small bit of shrapnel, which I’ve removed, and now I’m preparing to stitch him up. When I’m finished, I’ll run a quick scan on Thane, and then I’ll be able to assure you they are absolutely fine.”

Thane complied before Chakwas finished speaking. “How are you feeling, Shepard?” he asked, walking up the side of the bed.

“Better…I think,” she said, voice still thick with lingering anesthesia. “Vague mem’ry…three of you…on the shuttle, maybe? Tried to focus…on the one in the middle. Only one of you now.”

“That’s definitely an improvement,” came Garrus’s voice from his awkward position by the doctor’s desk. “Can you picture the galaxy with three assassins like Thane Krios? Mind-boggling.”

“I believe three of you might be worse, Archangel,” Chakwas commented. “Now stay still and stop trying to look at Shepard. You can visit as soon as I’m done.

“Normal vision is good news, Commander,” the doctor stated as she worked on Garrus. “How about headache or nausea?”

“Hmm. Head hurts, like other times…I banged it too hard on something. And when…stupid prothean…things…talk to my brain,” Shepard admitted. “Not fun, but not…horrible either.”

“I’m not sure I understand. Prothean artifacts have communicated with you?” Thane queried. “More than once? I’ve a new line of questioning for our next evening chat.”

“There you go, Garrus, all finished,” the doctor informed him. The turian stood carefully and then joined Thane at Shepard’s side. Chakwas continued, “Yes, Thane, more than once. I believe the current count, if we include the Cipher from the thorian, is five. Does that sound correct, Commander?”

“Four, Doc,” Shepard disputed, attempting wide-eyed innocence. “You must’ve…double counted or something.”

“Not at all, Commander,” Chakwas retorted. “I’m merely factoring in the high probability that you had at least one encounter you didn’t report.”

“She’s been with you even longer than I have, Shepard,” Garrus reminded her. “I don’t think you can fool her.”

“Can’t confirm or deny such an…encounter,” Shepard mumbled in a bid for dry humor. “Damage to my mem’ry. Such a hazard with…concussions and prothean mind-fu—…um, prothean…data sharing.”

Chakwas and Garrus both laughed aloud at the obvious word change. Thane even relaxed his stance and cracked a grin.

“Shepard, really, you can swear in front of me,” the doctor admonished, still chuckling. “I was born into an Alliance family, after all, and I’ve spent my life among marines. I’ve treated both Jack and Zaeed. I think I’ve heard just about every combination of curse words and coarse language you can possibly imagine. But I’m glad you’re clearly better than I thought you’d be this early in recovery.

“Now, Sere Krios,” she said, returning to business. “Let’s get that scan over with so Shepard can rest easy—and you and Garrus can both get some sleep.”

As Thane returned to his previous seat, Garrus moved to the head of the commander’s bed. He looked her up and down carefully, worry in his brow plates and tense posture. “You scared me, Morgan,” he whispered. “Don’t do that again.”

“I’ll try, Garrus,” she promised. “Images are…coming back in flashes. One is a…tourniquet on my leg. There’s a splint…and a nasty piece of metal sticking out of my thigh. I remember you…explaining about the mech explosion. Must’ve put you and Thane through hell ’til you got me stable. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left heavy cover.”

Garrus shook his head. “There’s nothing to apologize for. None of us guessed Narom would blow up his own mech.”

“I should’ve thought of it,” she asserted. “I had the same idea…just in reverse. I endangered the mission…let you down… .”

“You did no such thing, Shepard,” Thane contradicted as he rejoined them. “If you’d remained behind a sky-car, Garrus and I would have been hard-pressed to take the mechs alone. And staying safe in the shadows while your team is at risk is not in your nature.”

“Both Garrus and Thane check out fine, Commander,” the doctor reported. “And from what I understand, you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“But…I…—” Shepard began.

“You would prefer to declare yourself at fault rather than accept that some things are not within your control,” Chakwas stated. “You see, I do know you pretty well, Morgan. And relinquishing a little control is an area where you need some work. You can’t plan for every possible contingency.”

She concluded with a smirk, “But it’s good to be reminded that even the great Commander Shepard has flaws.”

* * *

**Notes:**

For you bio/med field folks, I got a refresher on the basic rules for tourniquet use from http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2660095/.

I changed one significant in-game detail. Shepard, Garrus and Thane are using the Kodiak shuttle while _Normandy_ stays in orbit. The game shows _Normandy_ coming very close to the planet’s surface before dropping the shuttle for an incredibly short flight. But according to EDI, _Normandy_ has a shuttle because the ship is too big to land on planets with decent gravity and atmosphere. Sanctum has both. But landing isn’t the only problem—just entering and leaving the atmosphere would also cause physical stress on the ship and would waste a lot of fuel. In my headcanon for this story, Miranda could have ordered _Normandy_ into atmosphere to get Shepard back to the ship faster if Chakwas determined it was necessary, but Thane and Garrus got her stabilized. So they used the shuttle as a shuttle is meant to be used (and as it is used in ME3, when Steve pilots it). :-)

**Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


	8. Meds and Meditation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard struggles, Chakwas suspects, and Thane decides.
> 
> (Despite the publishing delay, this chapter picks up immediately from the end of chapter 7.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double-length chapter for the readers who have waited so patiently while I worked to get this right. 
> 
> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

Thane studied Shepard’s face while Garrus chuckled at the doctor’s comment. The commander’s reaction was not what he expected. She appeared almost…distressed by the teasing. For someone with such a playful sense of humor, her response struck him as odd. _Perhaps the sedative effect of the anesthesia_ , he thought.

“Wish I could stay, Shepard,” Garrus announced, “but I need to hit my bunk before we find out if Thane’s willing to carry me. Just promise you’ll listen to the doc.” The turian smirked at Chakwas before dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Tomorrow we’ll see what we can get away with when she’s not looking.”

Chakwas shook her head and attempted to conceal a smile. Thane suspected they wouldn’t be able to “get away” with much, considering how well the doctor knew the pair. But that Shepard responded with a small grin was encouraging.

His friend turned toward the doctor, adopting the standard turian posture and low-frequency trill that indicated respect. “Thanks for everything, Doc. See you in the morning.”

Garrus next approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “’Night, Thane. Sure am glad you’re with us.”

“And I you, Garrus.” He watched with concern as his fellow sniper left med bay. Garrus’s gait was heavy, uneven. That he might fall before reaching his quarters seemed a reasonable possibility. Chakwas was skilled, yes, but a bored Shepard and a mischievous turian both recovering in her med bay might challenge even her calm competence. Thane turned to split his attention among the three, tracking Garrus’s progress through the windows.

“Any chance I can spend tonight in my own bed, Doc?” Shepard bargained from behind. Her voice held a note he failed to associate with her usual demeanor. It was fractious. Fretful. A further indication of distress. “You know I have…trouble in here. Plus, it’s a fishbowl. People wandering by, glancing in. Makes me feel bad for my Paddlers and Skald.” Even grumpy, her humor brought a smile to his lips.

“Commander, I sympathize, but you’re recovering from surgery.” Footsteps accompanied the doctor’s brisk tone, no doubt as she returned to her desk. “You’ll soon require pain relief to be comfortable, and you’ve some swelling in your brain. You need to be under my care, monitored by my equipment. The best I can do is provide some privacy.”

Thane exhaled in relief as his mark reached the main battery. _Garrus’s welfare aside,_ he gauged, _knowing an injured crewmate is safely resting after treatment should alleviate Shepard’s worry._ Turning around, he confirmed Dr. Chakwas’ position at her terminal. She raised a brow in inquiry before glancing down the hall. He answered with a nod, and the windows dimmed.  

“Thanks, Doc, that helps,” Shepard admitted, “but I’d still rather be in my cabin. You can scan me now and again in the morning, right? Maybe have EDI monitor my vitals in between?” She sounded…apprehensive. Compulsive fussing with a blanket seam further betrayed her state. Added to the earlier signs of anxiety, it all led to one conclusion. _But what can she fear, aboard_ Normandy _?_ he wondered.

The doctor sighed, whether due to exasperation or empathy he wasn’t certain. “You need to stay. I’ve more specialized monitoring than EDI can provide. In addition, head injury protocol requires that I assess your responsiveness at regular intervals. I can do that best here, between catnaps on a spare bed. Now, I know you’re still feeling the effects of the anesthesia. I recommend you stop fighting it and try to relax.”

“Easy for you to say,” Shepard muttered.

 _Perhaps I can allay her uneasiness,_ Thane decided, returning to her bedside. “Garrus has arrived safely and will soon be asleep. You should follow his example.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

Thane cleared his throat to disguise a chuckle. “Any rumors that I made such a recommendation will be met with firm denials.”

“That’s okay.” Her smile was tired but genuine—and therefore ample reward. “He’d never believe me anyway.” In the next moment her expression dimmed as anxiety accelerated her breath and elevated her pitch. “But the sleeping…you don’t understand what it’s like for me in here.”

He briefly examined the unsettling number of dials and lights on various panels around her bed. _Discomfort in this situation is understandable,_ he reflected. _Yet…her reaction seems out of balance. Disproportionate. Could the surgery, the medications be the cause?_ “Perhaps not,” he acknowledged. “But I wish you to heal quickly so we may discuss it some evening. Let the doctor care for you, Shepard.”

“Guess I don’t have a choice if you’re all ganging up on me,” she pouted.

He suppressed a rumble of amusement at this uncharacteristic side of the commander. In his narrow experience, complaining was not in her nature. She looked up at him, then glanced away, cheeks going pink. “Would you mind…staying a little longer? Just ’til I’m asleep? Maybe…talk to me…like on the shuttle?”

 _Stay?_ he repeated. _She wishes me to stay?_ Thane registered the doctor’s curiosity but felt too gratified to give it more thought. “Of course. One moment.” He swiftly retrieved a tall stool from the lab station and sat near the head of the bed.

“What shall we discuss, Shepard? What would be of most help to you?” Thane watched with relief as her posture relaxed. Traces of worry lingered, though—tension in the brow, stiffness in the neck. He wished to take her hand again, stroke the soft skin as he had on the shuttle.

He resisted the impulse.

She closed her eyes and recounted a memory. “When I was a kid, I climbed a tall tree on a dare. Fell out, of course. Broke my leg pretty badly. The recovery was miserable. But, every evening while it healed, Dad entertained me with stories that had been passed down in the family. Assorted adventures of various ancestors.”

A slight movement in his peripheral vision showed the doctor leaning forward in her chair. She seemed fascinated by the commander’s revelations. He recalled Shepard’s reluctance to discuss her sister during one of their evening chats. She had not mentioned her family since. _She doesn’t discuss her childhood?_ he hypothesized. _Even with trusted friends?_

“I loved the stories,” she continued. “Just listening to his voice made me feel…protected. Safe.”

Thane’s chest tightened. The tone of her final words was revealing. She still yearned for those feelings, so many years later.

“Anyway, I was wondering… . Ugh. Never mind. Doesn’t matter.” The tangling, twisting movement of her fingers was noticeable even through the sheets.

 _Why does she hesitate?_ he mused. _There is no request I could deny her. Singing duets with Mordin. Wrestling varren with Grunt. Acquiring tattoos with Jack._

 _Well,_ he hedged. _Perhaps not tattoos with Jack._

“Please continue, Shepard. I wish to assist if you will permit me.”

“Would you mind just…talking to me? Like my dad did? Doesn’t have to be anything about family. I don’t have to know the people or legends or background. Just…don’t leave. Let me…hear you.”

Thane blinked several times at her choice of words. _Later_ , he prompted himself. _Meditate and evaluate later_.

“The drell have many legends, Shepard. Among them is a collection of tales similar to Earth’s _Beowulf_ epic. Does that appeal?” She neglected to open her eyes but nodded with a small smile.

“As you wish. Many centuries ago, a small tribe wandered one of the hottest, driest deserts of Rakhana… .”

Shepard openly enjoyed the feats of the tribe’s great warrior-hunter. Her gaze was avid. Body shifting in small ways, as if imagining herself in the combat he described. But as she inched toward slumber, her responsiveness decreased. Thane felt conflicted. She needed the rest, without question. Yet her growing stillness evoked images from earlier in the day. Images of when she lay unconscious. Body broken and bleeding, covered by debris. So as he narrated the series of heroic deeds, he couldn’t help but scrutinize her breathing. Count the steady pulse at the base of her throat. Remind himself that she had survived. That she was safe on _Normandy_ and recovering.

Partway through one adventure, he paused, concluding she had drifted off. He looked up as the doctor approached with a glass of water. “She’s not completely asleep yet,” Chakwas whispered, offering him the glass. “The residual anesthesia obscures the usual signs of awareness, but her brain activity spiked when you stopped. And I’d like to hear the end of that episode myself.”

“Ah, I see. Certainly.”

Resuming the tale, he was more aware of the doctor as a member of his audience. Her reactions were a welcome distraction from Shepard’s fading consciousness. The white-knuckle grip on her desk edge, when the young hero was about to perish—only to be saved by another hunter from a warring tribe. A wise nod as the two would-be enemies became fast friends. He looked her way at its conclusion, and she dipped her head in appreciation.

He began the next group of stories. Legends about the hero’s visions from the gods and the tasks undertaken in their service. When he stopped to sip some water, the doctor gestured for him to approach.

“Shepard’s brainwaves indicate she’s in deep sleep,” Chakwas explained. “Thank you for staying. She would have struggled for quite a while otherwise. Now, she’s getting the rest she needs.

“Speaking of rest, Sere Krios… . While you suffered no major physical trauma today, your body and mind experienced significant stress. You need a good night’s sleep to recharge.”

Thane studied Shepard’s face and hesitated. The thought of departing was…difficult. He’d barely left her side since the explosion. Her safety and wellbeing were now in another’s capable hands, but he still felt the draw of responsibility. She had requested he stay, apparently linking his presence to a sense of safety and comfort. _Yet, the doctor’s assertion is correct,_ he granted. He sighed in resignation. “If you insis—”

A series of alarms from Shepard’s bed interrupted his reply. “Just a minute, Thane.” Chakwas pulled up several readings on her terminal and rose to check on the commander.

“What’s happening?” he asked after a moment. The doctor’s body language indicated cause for concern. Instead of relaxing at a minor issue or obvious solution, she grew more tense as she examined her patient.

Then a louder, shriller alarm. Shepard’s body jerked in her sleep. Panic set in as he rushed to the bedside. “Doctor?”

“Wake up, Commander,” Chakwas ordered close to Shepard’s ear. “It’s a nightmare, Thane. She needs to wake up.”

He glanced at the doctor, confused. “A nightmare? How can dreams affect the body so?”

Another alarm sounded. A loud buzz almost too powerful for his hearing. Frozen by shock, he watched Shepard arch her back, a hand fumbling weakly at her throat.

“Gods…she’s not breathing,” he realized. “Doctor, tell me what to do.”

“Shepard! Morgan, wake up!” Chakwas repeated. “She CAN breathe, Thane. She simply isn’t. Try to wake her. She might respond to your voice.”

“Asleep or awake, she needs to breathe, Doctor. You must act.” _No, Kalahira,_ he prayed _. Not Shepard._ _Arashu, help your siha._

The doctor shot an irritated glower his direction, and Thane reprimanded himself for using such a sharp tone. “She’s having a nightmare, Thane. Reliving her death—her suffocation above Alchera. Her mind is telling her lungs there’s no air.”

“But breathing is a natural reflex, how—”

“When lack of oxygen forces the dream state to end,” she interrupted, “Shepard’s involuntary responses will take over and she’ll breathe again. But so soon after a major injury, we can’t afford to wait for that. Wake her.”

Thane turned to the commander, distressed by her body’s struggle as she fought for breath. “Shepard, wake up. Come back to us. You’re safe.” The emotion in his voice grew with each repetition of her name. He disliked revealing such things in the presence of others, but it mattered little just then. _Gods…please,_ he begged. _Let me help._ “The attack is over. _Normandy_ is safe. You must wake, Shepard. I…I have more stories of Draken Kiit to tell you.”

Her mouth opened in a silent cry that became a gasp, then gulps of air. “Excellent! Keep talking, Thane,” Chakwas directed, watching the readings on her equipment. “Help her transition to the here and now. Her heart rate and blood pressure are far too high, which could rupture the repair to her femoral artery. It needs more time to fully heal before it’s put under this kind of stress.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he acknowledged, attempting to keep both fear and frustration at bay. “Breathe, Commander.” Despite his appeal, her eyes remained closed and her body slack. Discerning her degree of awareness was surprisingly difficult. He depended on a well-honed ability to read his mark. To assess physiological details, body language, minute changes in position—shifts that might reveal information or presage attack. To have that skill fail him now was…troubling. Even the doctor’s comment, that the anesthesia in Shepard’s system complicated the task, did not bring him comfort. _How can I provide necessary assistance if I can’t read her?_ he grumbled.

Then she inhaled with effort and control. Thane couldn’t imagine a more welcome sound than that ragged rasp. _Thank you, Arashu,_ he offered.

“That’s it, Shepard. Take deep breaths, slower each time,” he soothed, adding a calming thrum from his lower register. “You’re aboard the SR-2, in med bay. You were injured on Sanctum, but you will be fine.” He repeated the phrases as he would his meditations. As she would her mantra. Tools to find stillness in the storm. “Open your eyes and look at me, Shepard.”

Never had he seen such conflict between the mind and body. Her consciousness struggled to obey his command, face straining as she fought to surface. At last, the medication surrendered control. Her eyes snapped open, wide and darting, trying to track his voice. “Th…Thane?” His fists clenched at the sight of tears and lingering fear.

“Wh…what’s going on? Where…?” she stammered, voice hoarse, as if her throat and lungs had indeed battled for air. Embarrassment flashed across her face. “Oh, no…no. It happened again, didn’t it? I dreamed I was… . That fucking nightmare… . Hate med bays… .” Her volume faded as she defied her injuries to roll onto her side. Away from him.

 _Why does she withdraw?_ he wondered. _Is it something I did—or something else? Hiding, perhaps? But for what reason?_

Thane glanced at Chakwas, who displayed a reflection of the commander’s misery in her compassionate gaze. “Shepard,” he rumbled, “I need to speak with the doctor for a moment. Continue to take deep breaths; your vital signs must return to normal. I’ll be just a few feet away.” She refused to change her position but nodded in acknowledgement.

Brow creased, he strode across the room, to the door. “Dr. Chakwas, join me.” Realizing the invitation sounded abrupt, he began to calm his inner turmoil. _Inhale, hold, exhale, again,_ he chanted.

Breath by breath, his posture and fists loosened as he observed the doctor’s approach. In the aftermath, she looked every year of her age. Perhaps a decade or two more. “Thank you, Thane. I know that was difficult to watch.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Sometimes, I just don’t know how Shepard handles it all.” 

He looked back on the evening to collect his thoughts before speaking. “This is what she referred to earlier? The ‘trouble’ she has here? Clearly, it’s happened before.”

“According to Shepard and to EDI’s monitoring data, it’s a recurring nightmare. More common when she first came aboard, but less frequent of late. This room does seem to be a trigger.”

“Yet you maintain she must stay?” He flexed and stretched his fingers behind his back, voice neutral. Calm.

“Yes, unfortunately.” Thane’s heart sank. Despite the sympathy in her voice, he also heard firm resolve. “After 12 hours or so, if there are no setbacks or complications, I would probably approve transferring her to her quarters. Until that time, she needs to be here.”

He wanted to disagree, propose an alternative. But his mind was too clouded. Concern for Shepard so intense it hindered his ability to accurately evaluate the possibilities. _The doctor’s professional skill, her dedication to Shepard’s wellbeing—they are beyond question,_ he reasoned. _I have little recourse but to trust her judgment._

“Then…I must bow to your expertise,” he conceded. He looked beyond Chakwas to the far bed and sighed. “May I stay? Perhaps my presence will help her find rest.”

“I’d appreciate that, Thane. You seem to be the most effective therapy this evening. But only until she falls asleep. You need rest, too.”

With a nod, he crossed the room to the commander’s bedside. _Her position is unchanged. She’s likely returned to sleep,_ he speculated, then assessed for another few seconds. _Impossible. Her breathing is too uneven._ “Shepard?”

She nudged her head just enough to make eye contact over her shoulder. “You saying good night?” _Lashes are wet,_ he noted. _Manner flat, despondent._

“I have permission to continue our visit, if you wish me to remain.” He retook his seat on the stool, knowing she would have to choose—uncurl to interact or address the wall. That she shifted enough to keep him in view was encouraging.  

“You want to stay? Even after…that?” The self-disgust in her voice pained him. _Shame caused her withdrawal,_ he realized. “Thought you’d want to bug out. Not that I’d blame you.”

“There is nowhere I’d rather be,” he replied, resolving to keep his tone casual and even. “Would you like to hear more of Draken’s adventures?”

Just as before, the tension drained from her body in response. She breathed deeply, then rolled onto her back to look at him. “I…I’d like that,” she murmured. Thane nodded, pleased to see the warmth returning to her gaze. _What does Garrus call this? Ah,_ he recalled. _‘Smiling with her eyes.’_

He resumed the story, noting when her eyes closed, how her body relaxed. Again he felt the pull of warring instincts. Desire to have her awake and aware even as he prayed for rest and recovery. He counted her inhalations to descriptions of momentous battles and mythic creatures. Of the warrior queen who stole Draken’s heart. He watched the rhythmic beat of her carotid artery as he told of the hero’s old age and eventual death. A final, selfless sacrifice to protect the tribe. Finishing the tale, his eyes lingered on Shepard’s face, now serene in sleep.

Thane forced himself to turn toward Chakwas’ desk, expecting to see her at work. Instead, she was watching him with open curiosity. He began planning how to bypass her interest—and potential questions—when a change in Shepard’s breathing drew his attention back to the bed. “Doctor?” he whispered.

“She’s transitioned into R.E.M. sleep, Thane. She appears to be dreaming, but so far there’s nothing of concern. This looks to be a completely normal dream st—”

The first alarm sounded.

Several frantic minutes later, he managed to wake the commander. Again, she recoiled from all interaction. This time rocking in distress. Pain and fury both sought to overwhelm him as he looked upon her huddled form. Biotic energy seethed along his nerves, wanting to break free. Fingers flexed and stretched to keep betraying flickers at bay. _This cannot continue,_ he vowed. _There must be something I can do._

Thane attempted to center his mind and impose control over his breathing. The doctor would not be convinced by an emotional plea but by disciplined logic. _Inhale, hold, exhale,_ he chanted. _Again_. Once prepared, he made eye contact with Chakwas and returned to the door. After a brief hesitation, she joined him.

“Shepard needs to be elsewhere. In her quarters, as she requested.” Hands behind his back and fists clenched, he stood rigid and unmovable. Determined.

“I wish I could do that. I really do,” Chakwas admitted. Her words rang true. The doctor’s confident, even-tempered manner had frayed, her weariness visible. “But this doesn’t change the facts I outlined earlier. Despite the nightmare, despite the chance it will keep recurring, she needs care I can only provide here. Going without close observation is too risky.”

“Yet the nightmare itself presents risks. There must be a way. A reasonable compromise,” he advocated. “The necessary monitors—can the equipment be moved?”

“No, they’re integrated into each bed. And these beds, though wheeled, can’t be moved off this level.” She rubbed her forehead, indicating fatigue or frustration. Perhaps both. “The elevator wasn’t built to the proper specifications. Apparently, Cerberus hired designers who failed math. However…let me think… .”

She turned to a nearby terminal and typed several commands. “There they are. I do have portable units, for use off ship or in other emergencies. I should have thought of them earlier. Let me grab their storage case and inform the night bridge crew that I’ll be in the commander’s quarters. Then we can transport her.”

Thane took a hidden breath, hope conflicting with the composure needed to convince the doctor. “Another suggestion, if I may. I wish to offer my services in your stead. I’m certain that prior to this evening only you and EDI knew of this nightmare. Shepard harbors far too much shame to have revealed it to anyone. But since I now share that knowledge, I’m in a position to assist you. I’ve already demonstrated that I can both wake and calm her.”

He continued, praying in silence for Shepard’s gift of persuasion. “Consider: as the ship’s medic, you are always on call. Sleepless nights should be avoided, if possible. Granted, Ms. Lawson and Professor Solus could provide aid in your absence, but neither of them holds the crew’s full trust as you do.”

She appeared to deliberate, then shook her head. “You need sleep too, Thane. I believe ‘significant stress’ and ‘recharge’ are the words I used earlier.”

“You also used ‘most effective therapy.’ Drell assassins are trained to function without respite for days if need be. I can meditate, which provides restful benefits while maintaining awareness. But even if I ‘catnap’ as you call it, I’ll awaken at any sound or sign of distress from Shepard. I sleep lightly even when tired.”

“Well, you certainly have an undeniable…bond with the commander—a beneficial one, I believe. With continued monitoring, and your familiarity with the nightmare… .” She carefully pondered the decision, and in the quiet Thane feared she could hear the pounding of his heart. “I believe…I can agree to your proposal.”

His posture uncoiled, arms falling to his sides in relief.

“You won’t need to check her every hour,” she continued, “but I’d like you to rouse her two or three times throughout the night and ask her some very easy questions. Between that and the equipment, we should notice any change in her condition.

“But you must promise,” she instructed in her most commanding tone, “to contact me immediately if any alarm sounds. Or you suspect any kind of impairment—if she becomes difficult to rouse, can’t seem to focus, or struggles with simple questions. Being sleepy is fine, and even a tad…high…from the pain med I’ll give her. But I think you know the difference between those states and something worrisome.”

Thane quirked a brow. “High?”

“Medicating Shepard is tricky since Cerberus brought her back,” Chakwas explained. “The cybernetics have sped up her metabolism and adaptability. I needed to formulate a stronger pain med that takes longer to break down, and that I can easily adjust as she becomes resistant. It took a few tries, but I finally found something that worked. Unfortunately, it has two downsides. The first is a powerful sedative effect that is dangerous in combination with general anesthesia, so timing its use before or after surgery is important. The second is that it…relaxes her enough to lower her inhibitions.”

Chakwas smiled, eyes losing focus. “The first time I gave it to her, I was quite startled when she glanced up with an angelic smile and said I was ‘the best doctor ever’ and had lovely hair.”

Thane subdued a grin with effort. “So an intoxicated Shepard becomes kinder? I may have to withdraw my offer—the situation sounds perilous.”

The doctor laughed. “I know you’re not one for gossip or scuttlebutt, but please don’t share that information with anyone. She finds it extremely embarrassing—when she manages to remember that she said anything at all.” Her chuckles faded away before she continued. “And of course, the same privacy applies to her nightmare. You are correct—only EDI and I, and now you, know about her problem. To my knowledge, she hasn’t discussed it with anyone, even Garrus. But enough of that. Let’s give her the good news before I catch her trying to sneak out of that bed.”

The relief on Shepard’s face validated his decision to intervene. But, as Chakwas finished, uncertainty clouded her expression. Thane held up a hand to forestall her objections. “I’ve already explained to the doctor that I don’t require much sleep,” he stated. “And I believe travel is the single activity planned for tomorrow. I can rest during the day cycle if need be.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, concern as obvious as the hope she failed to suppress. His ribbing flushed in response. He couldn’t remember when someone had last shown such consideration for his welfare. “I already put you through a lot today.”

“And I would do it again, without hesitation. Though perhaps without repeating the risk to your life,” he teased, lips quirking upward on one side. Conscious that they weren’t alone, he stole a glance at the doctor as she checked the equipment case. Her arched brow and knowing smile indicated their exchange had not gone unnoticed. Thane quietly thanked the gods for her strong feelings on privacy and crew gossip. He valued discretion as much as Shepard.

“The surgical meds will be out of your system soon,” Chakwas commented, rejoining them. “Let me give you an injection for the pain so you can sleep. Then Sere Krios and I can escort you to your quarters.”

Thane saw the pulse in Shepard’s neck quicken as she looked up at Chakwas. “Uh, Doc? Any way you can give me the injection once I’m in my bed? I can’t tell you how much I hate getting knocked out in one place and waking up in another. Whether by meds or…something else. I’ll stay in bed or relax or do whatever you want me to do tomorrow, no arguments. Promise.”

“I’d like you to include the next day as well, but I won’t turn down a partial victory,” the doctor conceded. “Just try to resist whatever hijinks Garrus cooks up for your entertainment and I’ll be happy. Let me get a wheelchair, as the Illusive Man’s intel network failed to foresee the need for medical stretchers on a combat vessel. Thane, I’d appreciate your help moving her from the bed to the chair.”

“That isn’t necessary, Doctor,” Thane asserted. “The cabin’s stairs present an obstacle for a wheelchair. I can carry Shepard without difficulty, as I did from the shuttle to med bay. But I would leave the choice to her.”

“Oh… . Um… .” His comment appeared to catch Shepard off guard. A delicate pink hue spread over her cheeks, and he chastised himself for causing her further discomfort. _Perhaps I shouldn’t have volunteered_ —

“I guess…Thane has a point.” Her hesitation and lack of eye contact did little to alleviate his anxiety, but her quiet words…delighted him. Far more than the occasion warranted.

“Well, I have no objections,” Chakwas remarked. He glanced the doctor’s way in relief and saw her amused smirk had returned. “Thane, if you would assist the commander?”

“Of course.”

Quickly he assessed the safest way to remove Shepard from the bed. Minimizing risk of further injury or pain was vital; he’d never forgive himself if he worsened her condition. Satisfied, he bent over and lifted with caution. “Do you think you’ll remember this time, Shepard?” he rasped.

She answered with a warm sigh that caressed his frill. Thane shivered as he pulled her to his chest. It had been many years since he’d been this close to someone. With startling clarity, he realized how much he missed the opportunity. The chance to share a simple touch with those he cared for. His contracts necessitated a certain level of intimacy with his targets, of course, but the similarities ended there.

And now, holding Shepard… . In earlier encounters, he had somehow failed to notice how…soft humans were. Their bodies felt so different than drell. Smaller. Lighter. Her head came to rest between his throat and shoulder, and he could detect the scent of her hair. He found the smell…soothing.

“Um, remember what, exactly? Memory loss from the concussion, you know.”

He rumbled his amusement at the exaggerated nonchalance of her reply. The differences in their physiology ensured it would be felt more than heard, but that Shepard trembled in response worried him. “Are you in pain?” he asked, stepping out of med bay.

Pools of green regarded him as they approached the elevator. “No, I’m okay for now. I appreciate you doing this.”

The doors opened, and he paused to allow the doctor entry. “No thanks are needed,” he thrummed. “This is a pleasure I’ll enjoy recalling.”

She ducked her head as her visible cheek darkened to crimson. _Embarrassment?_ he wondered. _Some other…response?_ Contemplation diverted his attention until their arrival at her quarters.

Once inside the room, Chakwas looked at the commander with concern. “How do you feel, Shepard? Any dizziness?”

“No, head is pretty clear,” she replied. “Meds are wearing off, so I’m not feeling great, but there’s no stabbing pain anywhere.”

Thane looked from the woman in his arms to the bed and back again. _So large for such a small person,_ he noted. On his last visit, he had found it unsettling. It remained so. “Shepard, you sleep on the port side of your bed. Correct?”

Her head jerked against his shoulder to meet his gaze. “B…bed? I mean…um…yes, port side. That’s where I…sleep, usually. How did you know?”

He looked down with a gentle smile. “The framed artwork and reading material—all on the port side. The bedside table to starboard holds only a music interface.”

“You noticed all that in just a few seconds? Really?”

He chuckled at her curiosity—and its success in erasing her embarrassment. “Yes—and a great deal more. Habit, given my profession. But if you recall, I have visited here before.” Fascinated, he watched her eyes widen, then close as she turned her face toward his chest. _What is she recalling?_ he speculated. _What memory of that day would trigger such a reaction?_

_I stare in confusion. Shepard? She appears…stuck. Long legs outstretched. Struggling for purchase. I ask if I may help. She declines. My heart rate accelerates. An unexpected feeling of…desire? I wish to run my hands up her legs. Feel the softness of her skin under my palms—_

“Thane?” Chakwas interrupted with wry humor. “The bed is that way. Port side should be fine.” She carried her case that direction and began setting up the monitors.

“Of course, Doctor.” _Focus,_ he admonished. _This is not the time._

He descended the stairs slowly, glancing at Shepard. She still avoided eye contact. _Perhaps her response stems from another source,_ he worried. “Am I causing you pain, Shepard?”

She looked up, color starting to fade. “I’m definitely feeling the bruising on my back now,” she confided.

“Forgive me.” He attempted to alleviate her discomfort by moving her higher against his chest and shifting his hold.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay. No position would be any better, and we’re nearly there. Besides,” she snickered, “you’re still more comfortable than Garrus would be.”

“Perhaps that should remain our secret, Shepard. You know how sensitive our mutual friend can be. You wouldn’t wish to hurt his delicate feelings.”

She laughed outright and then groaned. “Oh, don’t turn comedian now, Krios. My sore muscles and headache can’t take it.”

He paused at the bedside, pondering logistics. “Do you wish to be placed on your side, to avoid the injury to your back?”

“Yes, please,” she replied. “On my right side, if you can manage.”

“As you wish.” After setting her in the bed, he stepped back with reluctance to make room for the doctor. Chakwas examined her patient, then attached the monitor feeds and administered the injection. Thane hid his flinch with difficulty; he disliked strong medication and wondered how Shepard tolerated it.

“This should take effect quickly and help with your pain until morning,” Chakwas explained as she straightened the covers over Shepard. Now that he had spent more time with the doctor, he noticed—and appreciated—the caring rapport masked by her brisk, professional tone. “Thane will wake you twice during the night to check on your status, but you should return to sleep with little difficulty. If the pain keeps you from resting, let him know and he’ll consult me.”

The doctor turned to him with further instructions. “It’s a little after midnight. I think checking her at 0230 and 0500 should be sufficient. Just ask two or three very basic questions—the year, her favorite weapon, the name of her hamster—nothing she has to think about. She should be able to answer almost as a reflex.”

Emotion lingered in her voice as she addressed him. Fondness, as well as respect. Even…trust. Thane felt humbled. _Just one of many gifts Shepard has brought into my life,_ he acknowledged as the doctor continued. “Her speech might be slower than usual but should still be clear. Little to no slurring. Err on the side of caution if you suspect a problem.”

The affection on both sides was unmistakable when Shepard reached out and took the doctor’s hand. “I’m so grateful to you, Doc. For keeping me in the fight and understanding my weird quirks. For not chucking me out the airlock when I’m…a problem. Mostly, for being a good friend.”

Chakwas touched Shepard’s cheek with her free hand. Thane suddenly felt he was intruding, yet the doctor continued despite his presence. “Morgan, you judge yourself too harshly, my friend. This crew needs its immovable center. I don’t intend to lose you again, not if I can prevent it. Now get some sleep. Doctor’s orders. I’ll be back in the early morning to relieve Thane.” After a quick squeeze, she reclaimed her hand and turned to leave.

He escorted her to the door. “You also have my thanks, Doctor. Shepard and _Normandy_ are lucky to have you.”

The doctor smiled and arched one brow. “What a coincidence, Thane. I’m beginning to think Shepard is lucky to have you.” As he blinked in astonishment, she nodded farewell and left.

For a long moment he stared at the door, uncertain how to feel or respond. _Discomfort with her perception, or pleasure at her acceptance? Both?_ he mused. _In either case, something to examine later._

Recalling his responsibilities, he shifted a lounge chair closer to the bed. “May I offer any assistance, Shepard?” Emotion resonated in his voice, as he no longer felt compelled to restrain it.

“Hmm? No, be out soon.”

Thane hummed. The doctor had indeed been correct. Already he could see and hear the medication’s impact.

“Actually, couldya feed…my fish? Then make y’self at home. Small…fridge under...desk by the couch. Some…water, juice there…maybe yogurt.”

Before he could respond, she gestured to the stack of datapads on the bedside table. “Here’s tons of stuff…to read. Recommend the…datapad on top. Turian history…about the Uni—” A yawn interrupted her suggestion. “Unification War… . Help y’self.” Her eyes began to fall closed, but she fought to keep them open. “Sorry. Drawer below closet...o’er there. Spare blanket and…stuff. Here’s an extra pillow. Y’know, if you wanna...bunk on the couch.”

This focus on hospitality seemed to stem from something deeper than a desire to see him comfortable. _She dislikes surrendering control,_ he deduced. _I understand the feeling._ He leaned forward and thrummed a calming note in his lower register. “Relax, Shepard.”

He watched her struggle to comply, voice fading as she spoke. “It’s that thing…Chakwas mentioned…earlier t’night. Hate this feelin’…drug makin’ me sleep… . Not my choice… .”

“Control is also part of my nature,” he whispered, low and soothing. An attempt to lull her into sleep. “Medication that interferes with my response to the environment is something I likewise distrust and avoid. But here and now, aboard _Normandy_ , we are safe, Shepard.”

The hesitation on her face broke his resolve. He picked up her hand and brushed his thumb over the delicate skin. “I shall be here. Garrus and the doctor are nearby. Your crew is able, and you have trained them well. They could face a squad of krogan battlemasters if need be. You can let go tonight, Shepard. And you will be strong again in the morning.”

The corners of her mouth hinted at a smile as sleep claimed her.

He held her hand for a few minutes, absorbed in the feel of her skin. In monitoring her breathing and pulse for rate and consistency. Once certain she would remain asleep, he placed it gently at her side.

Happy to heed her wishes, he rose to feed her fish. During his last visit he had failed to identify one of the species. That was something he should remedy at some point. Watching aquatic life brought him pleasure—it reminded him of Kahje—but part of that pleasure involved understanding what he was looking at. Beauty was superficial without knowledge. Fish fed, he crossed the landing to verify the safety of her pet rodent. _Meep,_ he recalled with an amused shake of his head. _An apt name_.

Tasks complete, Thane returned downstairs and walked over to the seating area.

He closed his eyes and sighed, exhausted but relieved.

The immediate danger seemed to be over. Twelve minutes had passed, and Shepard showed no signs of waking. _Perhaps this would be a good time to meditate,_ he considered. _Reflect upon the events of the day._ Settling on the floor, he reviewed his conversation with Garrus from the previous afternoon.

_“Any of us—even Shepard—could get taken out by some merc….”_

That it had come so close to that today could be no coincidence. Flashes of emotion surfaced across his face. Panic at her moment of injury on Sanctum. Fear over her unconscious state in the shuttle. Impotence as she huddled and rocked in med bay. Each emotion he breathed away. In their place settled a feeling of overwhelming relief. An almost compulsive need to grab Shepard and never let her go. Again, he exhaled the fear. And again. Each breath one step closer to regaining his center. Body and mind connected, he proceeded with his prayers.

_Thank you, Arashu, for saving your siha. For your protection of Garrus and myself as we defended Shepard. For your guidance as we tended her injuries. For the expertise of your surrogate, Dr. Chakwas. Thank you, Kalahira, for your willingness to extend the commander’s time on this side of the sea. And my gratitude, Amonkira, for your assistance in sending the Blue Suns to Kalahira’s judgment. Mistress of Inscrutable Depths, have mercy on their souls._

After meditation and prayers, he retrieved a glass of water and examined Shepard’s bedside stack of datapads. The turian history…was in turian. _The wonder of her mind_ , he thought with a smile, before selecting an asari philosophical tract with several translation options. He reclined on the couch, reading, until his internal clock alerted him as 0230 approached. Just before the alarm on his omnitool chimed, he turned it off and relocated to the chair by the bed.

“Shepard,” he summoned. On the third try, her lids fluttered open.

“Hi,” she mumbled. A small giggle passed between rosy lips. “It’s you. Thaaaane. You stayed?” Before he could answer, her light humor faded, replaced by sad eyes that clutched at his heart. “Did I…did I…dream again? You know…about… .”

“No, Shepard. Nothing on the monitors has indicated a nightmare. You were sleeping peacefully,” he soothed. “I’m here because I wish to be. And I promised Dr. Chakwas, if you recall.”

“I hate how…you saw that,” she confessed, lashes heavy with tears. “Others watchin’ it, watchin’ me…die. Makes it worse. And I know…it makes Doc feel…lousy. That she can’t…make it go away. Sorry.”

 _If I ask her now for details—she would answer,_ he believed. _Would almost certainly share the experience… . Of what will happen…after. After Kepral’s has claimed my body. She hinted at “nothing” when she last mentioned it, but that can’t be. Is it possible she simply doesn’t recall? Her memories could reveal what lies beyond these shores… . Could quiet so many doubts… ._

A wave of guilt struck him with brute force. _No, I cannot. Again I think only of myself,_ he admonished. _She’s far too vulnerable. If she ever shares the experience, it must be of her own accord._

“There is no need for sorrow or shame, Shepard. Do you expect Garrus to apologize for his scars? Or Joker for the limitations of Vrolik Syndrome? Why would I expect anything different of you?”

The tightness in his chest eased as she grinned through the remnants of her tears. “Garrus’d never…’pologize for his scars. He’s proud of ’em. Thinks women like ’em. He’s such a goof.” Thane couldn’t help but chuckle at her amusement. ...And accuracy.

“I suspect these questions will be unnecessary, but the doctor left strict orders. Do you know what year is it?”

Her giggle returned. “Headache questions. I ’member. Um…2185.”

“What is your hamster’s name?”

“Meep. Duh. ’Cause that’s what he says.” The giggling became a full laugh.

“And your special name for Garrus?”

“Ooh, tricksy! Freaky Raptor…Guy,” she smirked before yawning. “Wanna go for one more?”

“What does the letter ‘A.’ represent in your full name?” Thane wasn’t certain why the question came to mind, but he hoped she would respond.

“Krios being sneaky,” she accused, making a comical attempt at a wink. “You dunno what it’s for. You’re taking…ad-van-tage of my…drugged-ness to fish for info.”

Thane bit his cheek to stifle a laugh.

“Sneaky is something I do rather well,” he replied with a hint of smugness. “But you are correct. This isn’t part of the doctor’s test, and you needn’t answer. I apologize.”

An unsteady wave of her hand seemed to grant forgiveness. “No big secret... since you know my…first name.” Thane looked at her, puzzled. “Well…you know. Just ’bout ev’rybuddy…calls me Shepard or C’mander. Most hardly think I…ev’n have a first name. Garrus an’ ’nother friend…are the only ones who use it. Ev’n the doc only says it when I…make her really, really mad…or scare her. Like t’night.

“I like your name.” His eyes widened at her admission. _She likes my_ — “Thaaaane. Means…cool things…in old times… . Been wonderin’… . Mean anythin’…special…in drell?”

She apparently saw no need to wait for his response. Rather, she embraced her pillow, closed her eyes, and proceeded to answer his question. “Middle name…Alannah. Blend of Da’s…middle name…and Mom’s first. So I always have part o’ ’em with me.” She started drifting off.

“They gave you a wonderful gift, Shepard,” he whispered, looking at the framed drawing nearby.

“Yeah, they did,” she sighed. “Pretty…wonnerful…parents.” Sleep overcame her between one breath and the next.

Thane smiled at her slumbering form. She liked his name. It was ridiculous how much that statement pleased him. With the pleasure came another stab of guilt. He was appalled he’d even considered asking about…the Collector attack. He needed to exercise more restraint when he next woke her. His presence here was about her needs, not his desires.

Picking up a datapad, he attempted to read again but couldn’t keep his attention from wandering to the bed. Additional meditation didn’t appeal, and he didn’t wish to sleep. His mind refused to disengage from Shepard and the events of the day. Her injury. The surgery. The discovery that she relived her suffocation in her nightmares. Relived her…death.

The fear eased by his earlier meditation still lingered. The feeling was...unfamiliar. Before today, it had been many years since he had last felt panic. Terror. Despite the dangers of his profession, he rarely experienced such emotions. The hanar trained him long ago to move beyond such things. Fear’s purpose was to mitigate risk. If one did not make mistakes, there was nothing to fear.

He rarely made mistakes.

And he wished to assess and pinpoint today’s mistake, to mitigate future risk. But was the risk operational or emotional? Was it Shepard’s error, or his own?

_“Remember, a few of us know that pain—we’ve already lost her once. And here we are, following her on a damn suicide mission. So think about who you’re really protecting by pushing her away like this.”_

Was Garrus’s assessment…accurate? Was his decision not to act on his attraction fear for himself?

 _Finding one siha is a blessing,_ he reasoned. _Two? Beyond comprehension. Losing Irikah…left me disconnected. By the Dantius mission, my body had accepted its death. My mind had been dead a long time. Until woken by Shepard. How can I risk—_

_Ah._

_She is the one who lies here—a siha injured because she risked herself to protect Garrus. To protect me. A shard in her thigh. She could have bled to death. Would have, had we not acted so quickly. Would the rest of the team have been capable of the same feat? Grunt? Zaeed? Could they have worked together successfully without Shepard’s lead? Would they have cleared the mercenaries in time? That we managed to was a blessing—or a miracle._

_A miracle—an intervention by the gods. Arashu, is this why you joined my path with Shepard’s? Does your siha need a protector of her own? She carries such burdens. To lend her my aid and support…is this your purpose in rousing me from battle sleep? Or do I think these things because I wish them to be true?_

The question echoed and repeated: _Arashu’s will…or my own?_

The answer continued to elude him.

Thane stood and returned to the cabin’s living space. He required disciplined movement in situations such as this. Removing his coat and shifting the coffee table, he began a series of flowing exercises. A key component of his training, the slow, precise movements demanded his mind’s complete focus.

Upon ending a sequence, the chime from his omnitool broke the surrounding silence. He muttered a curse and turned off the alarm. Then glanced over at the bed. The noise had the intended effect, if on the wrong target. Shepard was awake, green eyes staring at him intently.

“Wow,” she whispered. Thane’s ribbing flushed at the rapt examination of his torso. Her eyes aroused ghost sensations wherever they lingered.

 _She looks at me as if… . Is that…heat…in her gaze?_ he speculated.

“You’re...beautiful,” she giggled. “I guessed stripes prob’ly went from...your head down your neck...to your…shoul-ders. Didn’t guess your arms.” Juxtaposed with the desire in her eyes, her childlike awe and laughter were dissonant. Jarring. “You’re…amazing.”

Thane felt the heat expand to his frill and fought the urge to reciprocate. To return her compliments and explore her textures. _Such soft skin…it likely extends beyond her hands to her arms and legs,_ he imagined. _Her face, as well…_ . _Does her cheek warm when she changes shade?_

But the giggling… . This was not Shepard. It was the medication. Despite her efforts to appear more alert and articulate, her inhibitions were clearly lowered. As he had been warned. The commander he’d come to know wouldn’t ordinarily say these things. And yet…could it ALL be due to the drugs? Could, perhaps, the thoughts be hers, if not the willingness to express them?

He returned to the bedside chair. “It is time for more questions.”

“Don’t wanna. You’re so…pretty.” With that, her left hand reached up to his bare shoulder. Soft fingertips played with the edge of his vest before touching his scales. He held his breath as her finger followed a stripe on his arm, tracing the shape as it wrapped around his bicep.

Thane couldn’t move. Propriety dictated he should intervene, but her touch was so unexpected. So…wanted.

_Garrus is upset, walks away. Shepard waits a few seconds, then follows. Faces him. Places a concerned hand on his arm. “Talk to me, Garrus.” A light squeeze in apology._

_She reaches out her hand for the doctor’s. “I’m so grateful to you, Doc.”_

_She touches nearly everyone else aboard, but never me,_ he realized. _Why?_

He wished this moment would never end.

Her fingertip drifted over the pulse point in the bend of his elbow. _Can she feel how my blood pounds?_ he wondered. _Does she understand what it means?_ Then the contact was gone. “Oooh, zipper! Funny sound— _zzzziiiiip, zzzziiiiiiip_ … .” Light pressure and warmth—her hand had moved to his chest. Briefly she stroked the scales before grasping the zipper’s silver tab.

 _This isn’t Shepard. She’s not in control. I have to stop this...indulgence._ His fingers trapped hers as she began pulling. “No, Shepard,” he chided. Appeasing his own desire, he kissed her knuckles as he removed her hand. _Even softer against my lips,_ he marveled.

He tracked rapid changes across her face as contrition replaced excitement. “I shounna done that, should I? I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to...bother you…or make you mad.”

“Shepard…Morgan, I’m not upset,” he soothed, hoping his instinct to use her given name was appropriate. He edged forward in his seat. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Really? You sure?” She looked up at him from under thick, feathery lashes and blinked. “Wait. You called me…Morgan.” Her eyes widened as growing delight brightened her expression. “I…I like that… . Um, so, I guess…you have more headache questions?” she yawned.

He would need to act quickly. The sedative effect of the medication seemed to be reasserting itself.

“I do, indeed. How old are you?”

She chuckled at his request, worry evaporating. “Not s’ppose’ta ask a girl that, Krios.” He tilted his head to one side, perplexed. “Never mind, silly,” she grinned. “Almost…31. Comin’ up soon.”

He made a mental note to research human attitudes toward age, then moved on. “What is your weapon of choice?”

“Pffffttt. A Widow. Of course.” _Of course_ , he smiled. Along with Garrus, they’d engaged in several lively debates over the merits of their preferred sniper rifles. He still marveled over her ability to carry such a heavy gun. Let alone wield it with such deadly efficiency.

“Last question. Where did we meet?”

“Um…Dan-ti-us Towers...on...Ill-i-um. Did I pass?” He hid his amusement at her careful over-pronunciation and the slow, owlish blinking of her eyes. Sleep would claim her soon.

“I think the doctor will be pleased,” he affirmed. “And I’m relieved as well. The thought of losing my…discussion partner was distressing.”

“’Scussion partner?” She closed her eyes and sighed. Nestled into her pillow. “It’s…a start…I guess.”

“A start?” _That’s…intriguing,_ he thought. _Does she mean it the way it sounds?_ But before he could ask, she’d surrendered to slumber.

He reached out and swept a lock of hair off her cheekbone, tucking it behind her ear. Committing the moment to memory, he paused and realized the emotion he’d allowed into his voice earlier had intensified. Evolved into a throb in his deepest register. It revealed a great deal. Affection. Yearning. A sound recognizable to any drell…or turian for that matter. He winced. Any time spent with Garrus in Shepard’s presence would soon become intolerable. For now, at least, he needn’t control nor contain it.

“Sleep well, Siha. Dream of protection. Safety. Dream of peace. I will watch over you.”

Thane sat back and frowned. _But am I worthy to guard a siha?_ he questioned. Shepard had accused him in jest of taking advantage, but he had indeed done so. He should have been more on guard. But he’d wanted her touch. Savored it. He’d initiated contact by stroking her hand. What would he do if she remembered? What if she failed to? Both posed problems. He wasn’t even certain which outcome he’d prefer.

He recalled the sensation. _Her small, warm hand explores. Traces. Caresses. A slight roughness to her touch—callouses of her own. The feeling is new but…familiar. I want more._

 _Yes…more,_ he sighed. Certainty stole into his mind, settled in his soul. _I do want more. Despite all risks._

_I relinquish all doubts and fears, Arashu. Your siha has her protector…if she so wishes._

_The choice is hers._

* * *

  **Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


	9. Convalescing and Conversing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard is bored and restless after her injury, while Thane is both apprehensive and inquisitive.
> 
> (Nine chapters in, and we finally get to see Thane and Shepard chatting in life support in real time, rather than in flashback. I loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

Another series of distant creaks and thuds distracted Thane from his meditations. Despite all efforts, his senses remained too focused on crew activities outside life support. Part of his mind insisted on continual scans, analyzing every sound and vibration. Attempting to pinpoint her current location. Her possible approach. Irritation at his lack of discipline warred with unrepentant hope.

His heart jumped as a familiar pattern at last emerged from the din. Light footsteps outside his quarters, leading to the soft, mechanical _whoosh_ of the door. Her customary “Have a few minutes to talk?” To his dismay, the mere sound of Shepard’s voice brought him to the verge of solipsism.

_Light pressure and warmth—her hand on my chest. Grasping the tab, pulling to unzip my vest… ._

He fought to master the rush of memories. With a steadying breath, he turned in his seat toward the doorway. “Of course. I’d hoped your return to light duty might lead to a chat this evening.”

Seeing Shepard on her feet brought pleasure and relief. It was good to see her dressed in Alliance fatigues, rather than a medical gown. No longer connected to monitors. The relief, though, was tempered by…uncertainty. He believed he had relinquished all doubts. Accepted this path the gods seemed to intend for him. But a single question— _What does she remember?_ —had kept him away during Shepard’s recovery and absent from group meals today.

Shepard made a vexed face as she walked into the room. “Ugh. I hate that phrase—‘light duty.’ And after a whole day in bed, even, and another confined to cabin.” Energetic pacing accompanied her complaint. “I keep telling the doc I’m fine, but she’s not even letting me exercise. Stretches are all she’ll allow—no workouts or sparring.”

“And are you truly ‘fine’?” Brow ridge raised, he evaluated her movements. Looked for subtle signs that her bruises and surgical incision were still tender. “Most people require more than 72 hours to recover from injuries as serious as yours.”

“Oh, not you, too!” she scoffed, picking up speed. “Kelly and Miranda have been driving me nuts, asking every 10 minutes if I’m tired or if my head hurts. Garrus keeps looking at me funny, like he can diagnose lingering symptoms by staring hard enough. He’s more of a mother hen than Chakwas!”

“Is the reason not obvious?” His eyes followed her rapid steps and gestures. _No hint of hesitation or discomfort,_ he noted. _She appears to have full range of motion. And yet… ._ “You nearly died on Sanctum, Shepard. Garrus doesn’t need my perfect recall to know he will never forget that day. Your crew—your friends—care about your wellbeing.”

“And I appreciate that, Thane. Or I try to.” She took a deep breath and made a visible effort to slow her pace. “But I need to push my body at least a little before we get to Haestrom. Who knows what trouble Tali might have discovered, that deep in geth space?”

“Shepard! That’s—” He halted, realizing the need to tread lightly. _Her tolerance for assertive opposition is low at the best of times,_ he reminded himself _._ _And—after her close call…our last encounter—my own control is less than reliable._

He began again in a more even tone. “We are scheduled to arrive at Haestrom in little more than a day. You think to lead that mission? As you point out, the likelihood of geth presence is high. Engaging in combat is almost a certainty.”

“Yes, I damn well ‘think to lead,’ Thane. It’s what I do.” Her reply was determined, with a definite edge. A warning. A challenge.

Something…primal stirred deep within, flooding him with heat. Urging him to respond in kind. Instead, he forced himself to remain silent. Voice restrained, but worry and displeasure undisguised. Shepard stilled and turned. He could track her thought processes—gauging, considering—in the movements of her eyes, the flickers of emotion across her face.

The end result was a more conciliatory tone. “Thane…I know I put you and Garrus through hell. I would have spared you that if I could. And I’d probably fuss over you if the situation were reversed.”

She resumed pacing, mounting stubbornness in her tempo and animated gestures. “But…fuck, you have to trust that I know my own limits, Thane. That I know how far I can push myself and when I have to step back. When it comes down to it, I have big responsibilities that are mine alone, and I take them seriously. If scans tell us that Tali has run into geth, damn right I’ll be on Haestrom to get her and her team out of there.”

“Despite the risk to your recovery?” Thane snapped. He couldn’t recall the last time he felt so…provoked. She safeguarded others with such care, making her blatant disregard for her own safety even more exasperating. _How can I protect a siha,_ he snarled to himself, _who insists on reckless behavior?_ “This is unwise, Shepard. You would not permit it for anyone under your command.”

Shocked hurt flashed across her face. “You know, I came here to duck all the overreaction and disapproval,” she muttered. “I’ll come back some other time.” She took a stride toward the door.

The pang of remorse was immediate—as was the drive to dominate and prevent her flight. Without thought, he sprang from his seat and barred the exit. Only her quick reaction time prevented a collision. Even so, one arm extended to maintain her balance, and it hovered between them, mere inches from his chest. She appeared…frozen for several slow heartbeats, expression clearly startled. _By my speed?_ he wondered. _My presumption in impeding her escape? By…memory?_ Whatever it may have been, the moment passed. She crossed her arms in defiance and glared at him.

As always, he was taken aback by the small form housing such an indomitable will. Regardless of what his instincts urged, his intellect knew direct confrontation was rarely effective with Shepard. He breathed away his more primitive impulses. “Stay. You have my apology. I will not retract my concern, but I don’t disapprove of your dedication. I admire it, as does your crew.”

She dipped her chin and huffed out a deep sigh, arms dropping to her hips. “I’m sorry, too. Right now, I’m…cranky and irritable, so I’m jumping on every little thing.” She peered up through her lashes with a rueful smile. “Maybe coming back tomorrow would be safer for you.”

“Perhaps ‘unwise’ should apply to me,” he returned, hoping the amused rumble in his lower register disguised his relief. “For I am willing to risk your temper.” When her smile broadened into a hastily-smothered laugh, he gestured toward the table. “Join me, Shepard. I’ve missed our conversations.”

“I…I’d like that. But I need to walk, if that’s okay. I can’t sit still yet—I’m just too fidgety.” She suited actions to words, her movements energetic but less agitated than earlier. “Feeling cooped up or constrained is very, very low on my list of favorite things. I really wish I could work it off in the gym.”

He returned to his seat, offering a silent prayer of thanks that she’d agreed to remain. “Engaging your mind may provide a helpful alternative. We have much we could discuss. I have several questions, if you’ll indulge me.”

“Guess that’s fair,” she grinned, “since I always pester you for info. That’s actually pretty high on my list of favorites.” Thane felt a flush warm his ribbing at her casual admission. “So, shoot—what have you got?”

“These questions stem from the events on Sanctum and their aftermath. Concussion recovery is slower than you’d like to admit. What do you remember of that day and evening? Have you regained memories of the lost time?” _Do you remember the feel of my lips on your skin?_ he yearned to ask. _The words you spoke? The honesty of your lowered inhibitions?_

“Full recovery does take a while,” she explained as she paced. “And some stuff I’ll never get back. My memory is pretty solid until I start to scout the mechs. After that, I have bits and pieces, like…me in cover behind the sky-car. Ordering you and Garrus into position. Thinking ‘like clockwork’ as I hacked a mech. Then…there’s a blank.”

She paused, eyes closed, forehead creased in concentration. “There is no need to push to the point of discomfort, Shepard,” he intervened. “As Garrus said, it will come back in time.”

Her lids popped open. “I remember that!” she exclaimed. “From the shuttle ride. And I’ve had…other flashes from the shuttle…if I could just get my brain to cooperate.” Despite his warning, she continued to coerce her mind into compliance. A grimace drew her mouth flat with pain.

Usually he accepted her stubbornness and temper, often with a hidden smile. They were the inseparable shadows of her incredible willpower and determination. To acknowledge only one half of her while dismissing the other would reject the wholeness of Shepard. But today…her obstinacy seemed to unleash something in his emerging emotions. He wished to stroke and soothe, to stop the pain. Wanted to grab and chastise, convince her to take better care of herself. Instead, he moved his hands from the tabletop to his lap, stretching and flexing them out of Shepard’s sight.

“I can see the tourniquet, my leg a bloody mess… . And you in triplicate, wavering in front of me... . Some details from Garrus about the mechs fighting... . It’s a little…disjointed. We talked about some of these things in med bay, too—and now it’s hard for me to tell if I really remember them from Sanctum and the shuttle, or if I just know that I should remember them. If that makes any sense.” A sheepish shrug punctuated her words, the signs of distress fading away.

“Post-surgery, talking to you and Garrus—that’s a little better but…hazy,” she continued. “You sharing the adventures of…don’t tell me…Draken…Draken Kiit. I…I liked that.” The last phrase was almost whispered, accompanied by a small, private smile. The barely-there curve of her lips, so different from her usual grins and laughter… . It was mysterious. Secretive. _I’d give almost anything to know what she is thinking right now,_ he admitted.

In the next moment, her expression turned somber. “Then I had those…those… . Well, you were there.” Her strides picked up speed, fingers twining. Thane chose not to interrupt, giving her time to work through the fitful emotions.

After a minute, her hands stilled and her cheeks took on a pink tinge. “I remember…being carried to my quarters.” She glanced his direction but immediately looked away. “And that’s it. I know what the plan was—that Chakwas would give me a shot of her magic formula and you’d keep an eye on me. But I don’t really have any memories of those things happening. Just her waking me up in the morning.”

“Ah.”

_Her fingertip traces a stripe down my arm. Caresses. Drifts over the pulse point in the bend of my elbow. Can she feel how my blood pounds?_

Thane looked down at his hands, disheartened. The evening that had been so pivotal for him was lost to her. _Fira’lashuka_ , as his people called it. A blank slate.

Memory was central to drell consciousness and sense of self. Gaps in recall or lost time were uncommon, even in the wake of injury, and always treated as a serious physical or mental health problem. When memories proved unrecoverable, the loss was mourned, almost as a death.

 _Should I attempt to trigger recollection?_ _No, she needs time to heal,_ he decided. _Interference would be selfish, likely to cause more harm than good. Was I not…concerned by her own efforts just moments ago?_

He stowed his disappointment for later consideration. “In med bay, do you recall my interest in your prothean beacon experiences?”

“Yes, I remember that.” The return of her easy laughter brought a smile to his face. “Chakwas is even sharper than I gave her credit for. Guess I can’t get anything past her.”

“So it has been five encounters? With actual prothean artifacts?”

“Um, let’s see. The beacon on Eden Prime, the one on Virmire, the Cipher from the thorian on Feros, and a prothean pyramid’s video log just a week or so before we met. Those are the ones Dr. Chakwas knows about. The report I…um, withheld…was an odd relic on Eletania. It was just…too weird, and a full description would have included the involvement of the asari Consort on the Citadel, believe it or not.

“So, that’s it, that’s the five. Plus, you know, a few prothean data terminals, a VI named Vigil, and Liara T’Soni replaying the visions in my brain in order to experience them herself.”

“I shudder to think what might qualify as ‘weird’ in your varied experience,” he commented with a dry chuckle. “The readers of your eventual biography are going to be incredulous…or overwhelmed. You’ve undergone an asari mind link as well?”

“Yeah, a couple of times, with Liara and with Shiala, the asari who ‘uploaded’ the Cipher into my brain.” Shepard raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Can’t say I’d recommend the whole ‘embracing eternity’ thing, but that might have been the content rather than the link itself. Please don’t tell Joker I gave it a thumbs down—his asari fantasies would take a huge hit.”

Thane tilted his head and feigned distaste, even as he subdued a grin. “His ‘asari fantasies’ are safe from me. That topic is one I have no desire to investigate.”

She laughed at his faux-prudishness before growing quiet. Footsteps slowed as she appeared to collect her thoughts. Then she shook her head. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to put off more explanations. The prothean visions are hard enough to talk about when my brain isn’t bruised. In the meantime, though, you can look up whatever the extranet has on Vigil and Ilos. I’d be surprised if Liara hasn’t published something about it all.”

“Consider it tabled,” he conceded, evaluating her posture and demeanor. Despite the declarations of sound health, he didn’t want to overtax her. “May I ask another question?”

“Yeah, sure. I really am fine.” One hand made a dismissive gesture. “It’s just that the prothean visions are so…alien. They’re really tough to describe. If Liara’s writings can give us a head start, that will help a lot.”

“Noted, Shepard. On a different topic…I was curious about our encounter with the batarians. You’d never lost your temper to such an extent before. Not that I’d witnessed. I…worried you might leave cover. Rush them in your fury.”

The pacing stopped as a curtain fell over her expression. It became unreadable, even to him. He found the change…unsettling. Shepard was typically so open and expressive—unwilling and often unable to hide her thoughts and emotions. Several times he’d considered counseling her on the benefits of maintaining a more stoic public face, with at least the appearance of neutrality. No longer. Now, as her defensive wall reappeared, he wished to know all her secrets. Earn the trust required for her to share them. The memories behind her shy smiles. The pain in every awkward silence.

“Me and batarians, huh? …You don’t go for the easy questions, do you?” She walked to the table and sat down, facing him. “That’s a little complex, Thane, and I’m not sure I want to get into it tonight. To be honest, I’m upset that I let them get to me like that. I’ve worked so fucking hard to do better, but I guess I need to keep working.”

She looked down at her fingers, apparently just noticing that she’d knotted them again. She separated each digit slowly, flexing them before meeting his gaze. “…I…I don’t really want to say any more on that right now. Sorry. I don’t mean to keep putting you off.”

“As you wish, Shepard. Prying is not my intent,” he assured her. “But I am here to listen, if you change your mind. I’ve had my own…difficulties with batarians.”

_Oceans of teal beneath an obscene mask of red. So much blood—_

He pushed the image aside and refocused on their discussion. “So, an easier question: the mantra you used as you paced. My translator was unable to assist with two of the languages. How many do you speak?”

Shepard noticeably relaxed at the change in direction. “As in actual, conversational speaking? My Alliance ‘language proficiencies’ rating says nine: six human languages and three non-human. Plus some dead languages that the Alliance doesn’t count, because technically no one speaks them anymore. And there’s a bunch where I’m not fluent but can still communicate fairly well with a good dictionary, at least on common topics. You see, many Earth languages have similar structures and linked development, and some galactic languages do, too. Once I recognize those patterns, the rest comes pretty easily. One of the quirks of my brain, I suppose.”

Thane admired the matter-of-fact way she treated her abilities, but part of him wondered whether it stemmed from modesty…or from self-deprecation.

_The doctor touches Shepard’s cheek, almost…motherly. “Morgan, you judge yourself too harshly, my friend.”_

“How about you?” she asked. “Have other languages been part of your training or interests?”

“I already mentioned the genetic modification I received. It allows me to perceive the full visual range of hanar bio-luminescent communication. Certain aspects of my training and career required facility with the language. Learning from my Compact mentors. Obtaining intel from my contacts. Eavesdropping as I studied my few hanar marks. Translation programs are often insufficient—or worse, misleading. Of course, I can’t ‘speak’ the hanar language in return…only emulate their formality in the trade language they prefer.

“As for other species and their languages… . I find careful scrutiny of facial expression and body language quite…revealing. They often communicate more truth than the spoken word.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever decide to fib to you,” Shepard replied, eyes twinkling. Placing an elbow on the table, she braced her chin on one hand. “What’s the drell language like? Is there a single, common language, like the asari and turians? Or multiple regional languages, like humans and salarians? How is it related to other galactic languages?”

He felt his smile broaden. “It’s good to have my inquisitive friend back. Now I’m certain there’s no impairment from your concussion.” She shook her head at his teasing, her laughter warming him.

“As you know, my people and our homeworld went undiscovered by the rest of the galaxy until the hanar made first contact. No earlier outside influences, such as the protheans visited upon the hanar, have been brought to light. As a result, the language spoken by all surviving drell, on both Rakhana and Kahje, is considered an isolate. It has no discernible shared development or descent from any other known language in the galaxy.”

“Really? A true isolate?” Shepard’s enthusiasm was palpable. “A handful of human cultures have isolate languages, and they’re fascinating. I’d love to turn off the translators sometime and listen to you speak drell. Including your name, to hear how it sounds in context. I’ve been wanting to ask if it has a specific meaning in your language.”

“So you mentioned the other evening,” he recounted with a half-smile. “You told me ‘Thane’ meant ‘cool things in old times’ on Earth. You…weren’t at your most articulate.”

“Oh, God.” She dropped her head onto the tabletop, hiding in her folded arms. The move failed to disguise the red creeping into her ears. “Chakwas told me I get…goofy on that pain med. I’m so embarrassed. I didn’t do or say anything really horrible, did I?”

_Shepard whispers in awe. “Wow… . You’re...beautiful. I guessed stripes prob’ly went from...your head down your neck...to your…shoul-ders. Didn’t guess your arms… . You’re…amazing.”_

Thane reined in his memories. “You were a bit sleepy, and you giggled more than usual. I was simply glad your replies to my questions showed no worrisome problems.”

She lifted her flushed face and grinned. “That doesn’t sound too bad. I wish I remembered.”

Revelation— _A wish I share, Siha_ —hovered on his lips.

Prevention required a shocking amount of effort.

He was thankful Shepard appeared not to notice his struggle as she continued. “Garrus would have found it hilarious and never let me live it down. But you…no secret recordings to blackmail me with later? No trick questions to trip me up?”

“I did slip in a question about your middle name,” he divulged, mimicking the turian’s snide smugness. She snickered at the delivery. “You explained how your parents arrived at ‘Alannah.’ That led to your comment about my name. But does your first name also have special significance?”

“Uh-uh. Tit for tat, you sneak.” Heat bloomed and rushed at the affectionate humor in her voice. “Tell me what ‘Thane’ means first.”

“I suppose that’s only fair,” he granted, smiling at her eagerness. “It’s an old name, no longer in common use. It derives from a term for Amonkira’s battle priests. Interpreted as ‘one who fights in or from the shadows,’ or—more simply—‘shadow fighter.’”

He paused, feeling the slight melancholy he associated with his childhood. “I have sometimes wondered why my parents chose that name for me. I never had the opportunity to ask them.”

Suppressing his bemusement, he nodded toward Shepard. “And now for your ‘old time’ languages. What did ‘Thane’ mean on Earth?”

“Several things, actually, since Earth cultures have produced a lot of different languages. For example, it can be traced to Thanatos, the ancient Greek god of mortality and peaceful death. But looking at a completely different language tree, ‘thane’ meant ‘warrior’ in one branch while it meant ‘one who serves’ in a related off-shoot.” Face alight with pleasure, Shepard clearly reveled in sharing knowledge many would consider obscure or boring. He was more than happy to provide a willing audience.

“At some point those two meanings merged,” she continued, “until the word became associated specifically with military retainers in service to a king. That’s how ‘thane’ is used in both _Beowulf_ and _Macbeth_ , for instance.”

“This ‘thane’ is happy to serve a Shepard rather than a king,” he delivered with a sly smirk. Shepard rewarded his pun with a show of applause, and he dipped his head in a small bow. “I find those references oddly…appropriate. I appreciate you sharing them. And now your turn.”

Gathering her thoughts seemed to take a few moments. “My name has a few variations—some related, some not—each with their own meaning. The origin closest to my family’s background translates ‘Morgan’ as someone ‘of or from the sea.’ That never really meant much to me, as I haven’t spent a lot of time near large bodies of water.” A wry smile flitted across her face before she became more solemn.

Without warning she leapt from her seat and resumed pacing. “But lately…since the Lazarus Project, and since you told me about Kalahira…I… . I guess I’ve been thinking about that link. As someone ‘from the sea.’ You said the sea represents…death and…the afterlife…in your beliefs, and… . Damn. Never mind, Thane. It’s stupid.”

He was concerned by the abrupt emotional shift but thankful for the opening. “Nothing you think is ‘stupid,’ Shepard. I admit I wished to bring up your situation and discuss it, after witnessing your nightmares in med bay.” She flinched at the reference, but he took hope when she didn’t reject the suggestion outright. “There is much written about how dreams help the mind grapple with difficult ideas or experiences. Perhaps, if you shared them—explored them in conversation—your mind would feel less need to relive the trauma.”

The speed of her steps declared her reluctance before she spoke a word. “I don’t know, Thane. That’s a pretty heavy topic. Ugly, too. I…I’m not sure it’d be fair to you. I mean, with the way your memories work… . I don’t want to tell you horrible junk you’ll never be able to forget.”

 _A siha, without doubt,_ he marveled. _Even distraught, her first thought is to protect others. Protect me._ He wanted to scold her for that, yet arguing would not change her intrinsic nature. “I know the basic facts, Shepard, gleaned from what little appeared in public news sources. Confirmed by your last conversation with Dr. T’Soni in her Illium office. By the helmet in your quarters. And I have the memory of watching you struggle to breathe in med bay. The knowledge I already carry is…distressing. Processing the details may help us both.”

“Damn. I’m sorry, Thane, for all that. I didn’t realize… . Didn’t know… . Fuck.” Her pacing faltered as she strove and failed to complete the thought. “Anyway, I guess…it might be worth a try. God knows, I’m tired of the nightmares.” A heavy sigh and renewed walking accompanied the final comment.

Again he allowed her to wander and think without interruption. After another minute, she continued, “I haven’t even told Garrus the details. He…he’s tried to be helpful in a general way, since I…came back. Sat through some memories of my growing up, when I was trying to figure out if this rebuilt body was really…me. But he’s a problem solver—he needs to fix things. Just listening to stuff he can’t change isn’t his forte. With you…I…I think… . If you’re sure—really sure—that you want to do this… .”

She stood still and looked at him, squaring her shoulders in decision. With determination. “You’re probably the only one who might understand. But I definitely need some tea first.”

 _As do I,_ he thought. _Arashu, guide me. Give me your aid so I may help your siha, rather than selfishly seek answers of my own_.

* * *

  **Notes:**

“Fira’lashuka” is a drell term (of my invention) meant to be translated loosely as “lost memories.”

**Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


	10. Tea and Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over tea with Thane, Shepard shares her memories of the Collector attack...and her death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

Shepard sat with her hands wrapped around the tea mug, warming them. The comfortable temperature and dry air in life support hadn’t changed, but she still felt chilled. _Hell. I can’t believe I’m about to do this,_ she shuddered, dread already coiling cold and heavy in her gut. _How did our chat go from “I’ve missed our conversations” to…this? Describing my fucking nightmares. What a load of fun that will…not be._

 _But…I have to deal with it somehow,_ she confessed with reluctance _. It’s messing with my sleep, undermining my confidence, making me second-guess my judgment. I can’t afford any of that—April is already hard enough, as months go. The entire crew needs to be at their best for this mission. And, well, that goes double for me._

Her conscience wouldn’t stop nagging and needling, though. It demanded she revisit an earlier concern: _Is this really fair to Thane?_

A quieter voice, soft but insistent, harder to pinpoint, whispered in response. _It can only be Thane. No one else, if not him._

She didn’t want to question what that meant or where it came from, at least for now. It felt…right.

The handsome, enigmatic drell sat across from her, like always—though something had been a little different about him all evening. Not in a bad way, necessarily. In fact, except for his initial comments about her injury, he’d been smiling and chuckling more often. She just had this strong sense that something had changed, something she couldn’t quite define.

He’d been a little less formal tonight, and a bit more…emotional, even spontaneous. Like that moment when he wouldn’t let her leave and she almost ran into him. She just stood there, staring stupidly at that vest zipper, feeling the insane urge to keep reaching for it. And his intensity—always formidable—had been off the charts, laser focused on reading her expression and reactions. It made her feel as if she were a mark he needed to figure out and predict.

Maybe she was overthinking it. _He’s probably relieved I survived is all,_ she figured. _Just trying to assess how well I’m recovering, like Garrus has been doing._

 _That, or my damaged brain is imagining things. So leave it be and move on, Morgan._ وقف هدر الوقت.

“I guess the best way to do this is to dive in. My nightmare is mostly the final moments of the first _Normandy_. Should I start from the beginning? The beginning of the end, so to speak.” She tried a small chuckle that quickly died. _Okay, bad puns about death aren’t funny. Good to know._

Thane gave her a grave nod, almost like he heard her absurd, inner monologue. She took a deep breath and swallowed the urge to giggle hysterically. _And not the "funny, ha-ha" hysterical, either_ , she snarked. _The other one. The “oh, she’s lost it, time to call the white coats” kind._

_Why in hell am I doing this again? Oh, yeah—stop the shitty nightmares. Well, “Nos morituri te salutamus,” and so forth._

_Fuck, now I’m even thinking in bad puns,_ she chastised. _Must be Joker’s influence. Or I’m delaying. Come on, mighty First Human Spectre—pull yourself together._

“It’s early evening, and I’m on the bridge. We’ve been running in stealth mode, scanning systems in the Terminus for pockets of geth. After hours of careful scans with no results, I’m practically pinging off the bulkheads in boredom. So my XO, Charles Pressly, convinces me to take a break and grab a decent dinner.” She paused, unsure how to help Thane understand the incredible immediacy and power of these memories. _Wait a sec…he already knows,_ she realized. _His memories work like this all the time. Woah—I don’t think I could handle that kind of…overload._

“The scene—the sights, sounds, even smells—are so clear, so vivid, like they’re happening right now. Pressly’s concern for me when he suggests eating. Joker’s wisecracks about serving meals in a place called a mess. I can even feel the crick in my shoulder—the one that always acts up when I’m tense or still for too long.” She lifted her right arm a little and rolled the joint, trying to ease the tension filling her body. The movement drew a quick glance from Thane, but his gaze otherwise stayed steady, focused on her face.

“In the…nightmare, my location jumps to the crew deck. After taking Pressly’s advice, I sit a bit, chatting with other late diners. Such an…ordinary moment, exactly like dozens of other dinners on the SR-1. Until everything changes.” Thane took a deep breath with a slow exhale, like he needed to prepare for what came next. _But maybe he’s reminding me to breathe,_ she considered, so she spent a few seconds echoing his actions.

“Red lights start flashing—the visual cue for all crew to get to stations ASAP. In the dream, they’re…distorted—too bright and too fast, reminding me of strobe lights in a cheap nightclub. Over the comm, Joker’s voice warns everyone to brace for evasive maneuvers. I start for the bridge, but…this energy beam hits us before I get more than a few feet. The thing is…so damn powerful, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It slices through _Normandy’s_ shields, armor, and bulkheads like they fucking AREN’T THERE.”

She tried to wipe the stunned disbelief from her mind. The guilt at getting caught unprepared and hopelessly outmatched was harder to push away. _Somehow, somewhere, I messed up,_ she derided. _Missed some crucial detail or pattern. And my crew paid the price for my failure._ “Automated force fields cover the hull breaches, but several people go down in the initial blast. Including Pressly.” Her throat closed up, voice tapering off into nothing.

“Hell.” Her hands swiped at the sudden wetness on her lashes. She hated crying, especially in front of other people. “I’m sorry, Thane. Part of me knows it’s been two years, but most of me feels like it was just a few weeks ago.”

“There is no shame in grief, Shepard.” He was adding something from the drell lower register she’d read about; it wasn’t quite audible, almost more vibration than sound. A soothing hum that reminded her of a starship engine’s deep, steady throb. Ever-present, reliable, and reassuring. “Your loss saddens me. I regret my absence when you walked Alchera’s surface, mourning your crew. I would have offered my support then. But know you have it now.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, a little surprised he even knew about that mission. She grabbed her tea again, wanting to hold something solid. “I…I appreciate that.

“Anyway, I rush to suit up, barking orders as I go. Kaidan—Kaidan Alenko, my ranking ground team member—is already in his gear and delivers a status report. Our defenses are gone, so I give the order to evacuate and tell him to get everyone into escape pods. The idiot stops to argue, insisting he and Joker won’t abandon ship. He wastes a full fucking minute—a precious minute—and I’m about to punch him to get his ass moving before he gives in. But finally he decides to follow orders while I go after my stubborn helmsman.”

Thane’s eyes kept darting to her hands. She wondered why until awareness sank in—her fingers were clenched in a white-knuckled death grip around the mug. She took a breath to relax her hold, then sipped the tea for a long moment, closing her eyes as she swallowed. _It’ll get harder, so deal with it,_ she scolded. _These are just memories. You’ve already survived the real thing. Sort of._

Continuing took all her willpower, and her voice refused to rise above a hushed whisper. “CIC is…ripped open. Only some force fields and my mag boots keep me on board. My helmet muffles everything, so it’s…quiet. Eerie. Just the ‘thunk, thunk’ of my boots on the deck.” She opened her eyes to gaze at Thane. This had to be affecting him, but he looked composed. _He’s always the epitome of tranquility,_ she marveled.

 _Well, almost always,_ she conceded, recalling their brief but tense standoff. And somehow, realizing his calm wasn’t a constant, automatic thing made her feel better about her own issues. _When I need it most, he works at projecting that sense of peace, so I can latch on to it and stay afloat. Does he understand what that means to me?_

“You know, you can’t run in mag boots. No matter how much you want to. The magnetic bond to the deck plate forces this slow, lumbering walk. It makes me feel like…everything is happening in slow motion. But at the same time…the sense of urgency, the desperate need to move faster…it’s making me sick. My gut’s all twisted up.” She could feel her pulse pounding, knew the base of her throat was probably jumping for Thane to see. Steady calm kept retreating into the distance, no matter how hard she clung to her fracturing control.

She looked past Thane to a point on the bulkhead, images from the SR-1 scrolling like an old vid in her mind. “Through the hull breaches I can see escape pods firing. I count the launches as I walk, hoping each of them is full to capacity. Knowing they’re not, because as I walk I’ve also been counting the dead.

“In the distance, I can see the enemy ship, turning to make another pass at us. I lose sight of it as I arrive in the cockpit and find Joker. He’s still working the controls like a madman, trying to keep _Normandy_ intact. It takes a few words to convince him to give up. But I get him out of that chair and moving as fast as he can manage to the bridge escape pod. It’s nearby, right across from the airlock… . We’re so close to being safe… .”

A rhythmic clatter distracted her. Her hands were shaking, making the mug dance on the tabletop, so she strengthened her hold. “Joker’s finally in the pod, and I’m about to join him when I look over my shoulder. The other ship is close, and it…it fires another salvo as I watch. We lose all remaining power, and the force fields go down. The impact throws me away from the pod door toward an open breach.”

Her eyes shifted back to Thane’s, needing the focus to keep her in the here and now. _Breathe. No need to panic. This is the SR-2. I’m with Thane. I’m fine._ “I stretch to snag a handhold, and for a split-second I’m just hanging there, half out the ship, escape pod barely out of reach. The other ship comes back into view. Joker and I will both be space dust if we’re hit again. I… .”

Sudden nausea prompted a hard swallow. “I don’t have time to fight my way back to the pod. All I can do is save Joker. So I smack the launch button. The blast of the enemy beam is almost simultaneous, and some bridge equipment overloads and explodes—which sends me out the breach at speed. ‘For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,’ et cetera, et cetera.” Thane’s gaze dropped to his hands, tightening around his mug. _Okay, guess he doesn’t like Newtonian physics humor. Though poor timing could be the problem, too._

“Something hits me in the back, or I hit something, as I’m blown out. It doesn’t take long to realize my suit’s damaged…and I’m leaking oxygen.”

Thane abruptly stood and strode a few steps from the table, startling her and damn near spilling her tea. His neutral, composed persona was gone. He was furious—brow ridge lowered, lips compressed to a thin line—and Shepard was pretty sure she knew why.

“Thane?” He kept pacing. _So much for tranquility. Guess I jinxed him by admiring it._ “Come on—hold up a second.”

He turned toward her but didn’t sit. Instead he leaned over his chair, balled fists on the table. Shepard shivered at the cold, intimidating predator who had replaced her charming, philosophical friend. _Note to self: never piss off Thane._

“Listen to me—don’t go there. Just, don’t. You can’t blame Joker for staying any more than you can blame me for going after him.”

“Those minutes he cost you—you could have safely escaped with the others.” The rasp in his voice was harsh—threatening rather than inviting. She was glad Joker wasn’t in the room.

“Stop it. I mean it,” she ordered. “You told me I couldn’t blame myself for leaving heavy cover. That it wasn’t my nature to stay safe when my team was at risk. The same applies to Joker.” She watched the comments sink in. Going by his narrowed eyes, he didn’t like having his own words thrown back at him. _Fuckity fuck. I didn’t want to make him angrier. Come on, Krios—let your logic kick in._

She tried again. “Everything in Joker demands that he protect his ship and its crew. That’s who he is. We have no idea how many lives he saved by continuing evasive maneuvers and keeping _Normandy_ together as long as he did. I have never faulted him for that, and you shouldn’t either. Blaming him is a cop out anyway. He’s an easy target, an easy answer—but what happened…it’s not his fault. Not. His. Fault.”

 _That’d better work,_ she prayed. _If Thane really loses it…would he go after Joker? Hurt him?_

_No, he wouldn’t use his skills against someone so weak, unable to defend himself._

_Would he?_

_Please, Thane,_ she entreated. _Don’t do something you’ll regret._

He bowed his head, completely still aside from his disciplined breathing. After a long moment, he looked back up. “I will…reconsider my assignment of guilt. Your points are well made.”

Lungsful of stale air sighed out, leaving her almost dizzy and babbling with relief. “I had to have this exact same conversation with Garrus, you know. He spent two years mad at Joker. When he came aboard from Omega and heard Joker was piloting, he marched straight to the bridge and nearly punched the poor guy. I should have anticipated your reaction. You really are too much alike sometimes.”

She certainly had a growing appreciation for just how much effort he put into self-control. _It’s not about privacy and neutrality or even about helping me out,_ she grasped. _He works hard to keep something dangerous in check._ As ship’s captain and team leader, she knew she needed to reassess Thane—his strengths and weaknesses, and what might happen if he truly unleashed his power and abilities. _But right now,_ she acknowledged, _it’s too much to deal with._ _Commander Shepard can put that on her to-do list. Tonight, I need my friend and confidant._

“I apologize, Shepard,” he offered, chagrined. “I wished to help you find peace, if I could. Not force you to appease me.”

“I understand. This is…pretty overwhelming stuff. And nobody’s perfect. But if you’re extra nice to me, I won’t tell Garrus about this little slip.” Thane reacted as she hoped, with a small smile and more relaxed posture. “Anyway, you sit back down. Please. I need to pace again. There’s not enough room in here for both of us to wander around.”

Once he retook his seat, she rose and began walking, back and forth from door to window.

“In a way, that blast did me a favor. It blew me clear of the ship, and I kept going, courtesy of Newton’s third and first laws of motion. Otherwise, the final explosion would have ripped me into tiny bits, maybe incinerated me. I’d have gone out with a fiery bang. Instead, I watched from a distance as _Normandy_ broke apart into big chunks and started raining down on Alchera.”

She pushed herself to take deep, even breaths. “I knew…I knew I was dying. My suit was losing oxygen too fast. Even if another ship heard the SOS and responded, they wouldn’t get to me in time. I knew that, and...part of me accepted it.” She glanced at Thane, certain he would get that. He, more than anyone else aboard, would understand resignation in the face of death. To her surprise, he looked…unsettled by her admission. _Back to being hard to read,_ she sighed. _But that’s not his neutral, calm face. Should I stop?_

After another glance, he gave her a nod, and she took it as the okay to continue.

“I tried to focus on saying a mental goodbye, a final prayer, and to think of.…people I’d see again. But another part of me wouldn’t stop fighting. I desperately scrabbled at my air hose, trying to reach the leak. Hoping I could repair it. Bypass it. Something. Anything.”

Despite her best efforts, her heart was beating way too fast, panic clawing at her insides. “Fuck. Give me a second. I don’t want EDI to freak out over my vitals and report them to Chakwas.” _Or for you to think I’m a basket case with no discipline. If you can reassert control after losing it in a damn epic way…then I can do it, too._ “Je suis calme et maître de moi-même. Tá mé calma agus féin-rialú. Watashi wa shizukade jisei shite imasu. Je suis calme et maître de moi-même. Tá mé calma agus féin-rialú. Watashi wa shizukade jisei shite imasu.” She repeated the mantra several more times, slowing her walk to the rhythm of the words as she relaxed.

“Sorry about that,” she offered, embarrassed but determined to make eye contact. “This is just…just… .” The thought petered out, words evaporating.

“Any tool that helps you cope is a good thing, Shepard.” She felt drawn in by his compassionate gaze. He’d restarted that deep, comforting hum, and the rhythm and tone of his words created a space where she could just…breathe. “You must have realized by now—I also have methods of imposing and maintaining control. I would never judge your own. Just as I would never judge a lapse in that control, for mine is far from perfect. As you witnessed.”

The cadence, the thrum, the gravelly pitch—she just wanted to keep basking in them. They felt…familiar. _Déjà vu?_ she wondered. _How?_

She shook off the questions, needing to finish now that she’d gotten so far. With a small nod of thanks she continued. “The planet was coming closer. Might sound odd to say it that way, but that’s how I saw it. Then full understanding hit. My momentum and the planet’s gravity…they’d pull me into Alchera’s atmosphere. And I’d fall. That idea…scared the fuck out of me. It still does.” She noticed Thane’s hum had taken on a slow, pulsing rhythm. Like a heartbeat. She paused and followed a sudden instinct, syncing her breathing to his tempo until she felt calmer.

“I started fighting harder, flailing wildly. I…I didn’t want to be conscious when I hit atmo. That made me realize I was hoping to die faster—suffocate rather than burn. Talk about a double bind.”

Thane didn’t respond to her weak chuckle. _Okay, strike two on death humor. Hold it together, Morgan. Almost done._

“That’s…about it, really. I watched the planet get bigger, part of me horrified, struggling like hell. When my oxygen supply was completely gone…when nothing filled my lungs… .” She stopped and focused on Thane’s eyes, relying on them to keep her centered. “I screamed. Except I couldn’t make a sound. No air. Then things got kind of gray around the edges of my vision. Got darker. And I finally blacked out.”

His steady gaze gave her the courage to whisper, “I…always stop there when I remember all this. But the next step is…I didn’t just black out. I…died. I really died. And I entered atmo and fell to the surface of Alchera.” For a long moment she drew on their link, reminding herself she could still breathe.

“When I…came back, when I got a chance to sit and think about it…I don’t know how Cerberus did it. How there was…enough of me left…to put back together. Made me certain for a while that I must be a clone or a really good VI or AI. Until Joker and Chakwas and Garrus convinced me that I had all the memories, in-jokes, and bad habits—all the things Cerberus couldn’t know to program. And I have body memories, like this damn shoulder that still acts up.”

Shepard finally broke the link, wanting to avoid Thane’s reaction to her next admission. “Anyway, I died…and none…none of the things I’d been taught to expect or hope for…happened. There’s simply…nothing, not even any sense of time passing. I just started having flashes of being in a hospital or lab.”

She returned to the table and sat, hands clutched, fingers tangled. After staring at them for a minute, she darted nervous looks at Thane. “I’m…I’m sorry if you thought…I’d have some answers for you…about crossing the sea. But I don’t have any—for you or for me. Please say something.”

A warm hand clasped both of hers and stopped the compulsive twisting. Her eyes jerked up and locked with his. He gently squeezed before letting go. “You owe me nothing, Shepard. Don’t worry about my questions. How do you feel?”

 _Relieved you’re not disappointed_ was her immediate thought. _And a little stunned that you just…touched me. I mean, it felt…nice, but you never do things like that._ “I…well, I’m not a puddle on the floor, which is surprising. I didn’t think I’d get through it—manage to say it all out loud and admit what really happened. But memories, for humans anyway, they’re just…words put to thoughts, aren’t they? Artificial constructs that shouldn’t have the impact they do. ‘Words have power, not inherently, but because we give it to them. For better or worse.’”

She felt more tension ebb away when Thane gave her an encouraging smile and followed her lead. “Ramisa Brer’paros, batarian philosopher—and first wife to a High Overseer of the Hegemony. I find that sentiment…inadequate. I prefer the viewpoint of Sōseki Natsume.”

“The Japanese novelist? Um, I’m guessing you want me to remember…'Kotoba wa kūki dake o kakitateru monode wa arimasen. Karera wa yori ōkina mono o ugokasu koto ga dekimasu.’ ‘Words are not meant to stir the air only: they are capable of moving greater things.’”

“Your mind is an amazing thing, Shepard,” he commended. “As a related aside, I promised Dr. Chakwas I would mention something. She believes ‘even Shepard’s hard head needs more protection in the field.’ She wishes you would wear a full helmet rather than a visor. To better safeguard that brain of yours.”

She couldn’t believe she was chuckling so soon after reliving hell. “Yes, I know; she’s given me that lecture twice since the surgery. And now that you’ve fulfilled your obligation, we can forget the topic of visors versus helmets, yes?”

“Consider it forgotten.” She thought he seemed…reassured? Comforted? Whichever it was, her willingness to laugh seemed to ease the lingering concern in his eyes. “Returning to our discussion, Shepard—how do you feel about…what didn’t happen? About the…nothingness?”

“Back to the tough questions, huh?” She thought about shelving the topic, before recalling the beginning of her confession. _No one else, if not him._ “I…I’m still working on that. Sometimes I tell myself that I’m…an idiot, or worse, for believing in some kind of next world. Sometimes I try to convince myself…that the next world might still be there, but I…simply didn’t get there…for some reason or other.”

Her eyes again locked with his, drawing strength or courage or whatever she needed to keep going. “I don’t know which feels worse. To have certainty taken away completely…or to keep clinging to a possibility, trying to find hope wherever I can.” Her voice dropped to a barely audible level, but one she knew Thane would still hear. “Mostly I…I think about…people I’ve lost. I want an afterlife of some kind, a next world somewhere, because I want them to be there. I don’t want them to be…gone. Just dust and oblivion. If they are truly gone…then the weight of my failures…all the ones I couldn’t save… . How do I carry that?”

For a few seconds, his hand covered hers again. _So warm, with a slightly different…texture than human skin,_ she noted, bemused. _Is that the scales? Or maybe calluses like mine?_ This time as he withdrew, his fingertips trailed over her skin, like…a caress? Or at least the closest thing to one she’d felt in years.

“Your trust and honesty are humbling,” Thane rumbled. “As is your strength in communicating something so difficult and personal. May I share my thoughts? I…dislike the idea of your soul in such turmoil. I wish to offer a path that may lead to some peace.”

“I always appreciate your point of view, Thane.” With a sudden smile, she tried to deflect a bit and lighten the mood—and stop thinking about his touch. “Except when it comes to advice about surgery recovery, of course.”

“Of course.” He rewarded her effort with the half-smile she liked so much. He grew more serious as he continued, “Many cultures, many religions, have a concept called ‘limbo.’ An in-between place of waiting. For judgment. For penance. For the next life in a cycle of reincarnation. And perhaps, for a chosen few, for the appropriate time to return, because the journey is not yet complete.”

She nodded her understanding. “I’m familiar with the general concept. But not that last part of it.”

“I believe, Shepard, that Kalahira knew your destiny was unfulfilled. No one is meant to cross the sea, experience the far shore, and return. So you did not encounter the next world, because it was not yet your time. Instead, you waited, in quiet darkness. And you awoke when you were ready. When you were needed. To resume your role as a bright light…—”

He closed his eyes, his voice lower and huskier as he concluded, “…in a galaxy that is far too cold and dark without you.”

When his eyes opened, his bottomless gaze held that new…something she couldn’t put her finger on. Whatever it was caused a ripple of sensation through her body and a flash across her vision. Green scales, black stripes, defined muscles. His shoulders? _Bare shoulders?_

When she responded, she wasn’t entirely sure which she was addressing—his comforting words, his look, or her response. “I will…think about that, I promise.”

After a pause, she continued, “Working through all this will take more time. Probably a lot of time. But…it doesn’t feel as…overwhelming as it did.”

“Then I am glad.” The momentary intensity was gone, replaced by his usual calm neutrality. _Maybe I imagined it?_ she wondered. _But why would I imagine stripes and shoulders I’ve never seen?_ “I will always be here to listen if you wish to revisit this.”

“I won’t forget.” Her thoughts quickly scrolled through a list of possible ways to express her gratitude. Something that would be meaningful to him. The right one was obvious as soon as it crossed her mind. “And…I want you to know, I do take my health seriously, and your concerns. I’ll rethink what you said, about necessary recovery time.” She couldn’t help but follow that with a grin and a disclaimer. “Though I make no promises on the outcome. And the visor is still off-limits.”

Thane tilted his head back and laughed—really laughed, not his dry chuckle. For just those few seconds, Shepard wished she had perfect drell memory. She knew nothing would wipe away all the nightmares…but reliving that moment would be one hell of a talisman. And damn, did she ever need one.

* * *

**Notes:**

“وقف هدر الوقت. “ is Arabic for “Stop wasting time.”

“Nos morituri te salutamus” is a famous Latin phrase: “We who are about to die salute you.”

Morgan’s calming mantra repeats the same phrase in French, Irish, and Japanese: “I am calm and self-controlled.”

Sōseki Natsume was a Japanese novelist of the early 20th century. The quotation is from his novel _Kokoru_ , the title of which translates as “heart” or “the heart of things.”

**Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


	11. Solidarity and Shipwreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jacob turns out to be not quite so much of a jerk. Maybe.
> 
> (This chapter begins an arc that covers Jacob's loyalty mission and its repercussions. I'm therefore adding a TRIGGER warning: this and the following several chapters will make more obvious the non-con sexual abuse of the shipwreck survivors strongly implied by the in-game mission.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.
> 
> And huge thanks, plus love and kisses, to all you readers. Since I last posted, this fic hit over 50 kudos. Thank you--you all rock!!

Shepard sat in the mess after dinner, simply relaxing as the crew chattered, joked, and gossiped around her. _This is nice_ , she sighed. _No reports to slog through, no requisitions to prioritize. Guess getting paperwork done is the one benefit of bed rest and light duty._ Her ‘to-do’ list had only one goal for the evening: checking on Tali down in engineering. Having the quarian back at last left Shepard almost giddy with relief. Her makeshift family felt more complete.

She toyed with the idea of adding “Visit Thane” to the list. Although he hadn’t said anything on Haestrom, she knew he was unhappy about her decision to lead the mission. _Maybe more than unhappy,_ Shepard recalled, rotating her right shoulder with a small frown. _I’m surprised he didn’t implode when the sensors verified geth presence. If his lips had gone any flatter, they’d have disappeared._

But his appearance had gone back to neutral almost immediately, and he’d seemed fine once they were in the thick of things. Thane wasn’t the type to lecture or hold a grudge. He didn’t even say “I told you so” when her repaired leg spasmed and locked up as the last geth went down. Of course, words weren’t necessary with the worried, disappointed look on his face. As he offered a hand up, that expression had bothered her more than the damn muscle cramps.

After they returned to the ship, that look had popped up a couple of times in her memory. She hadn’t realized before how guilt-inducing those big, black eyes could be. His anger would be easier to deal with; she could argue with anger. But concern? Up-close, heartfelt concern? She didn’t know what to do with that.

A tall shadow loomed over the table, interrupting her thoughts. “Commander, do you have a minute?” Jacob stood at attention, damn near as stern and stoic as Councilor Sparatus. And he sounded more serious than usual, even subdued.

_Damn, shit, and fuckity fuck. Not Jacob “Cerberus Flunky” Taylor. Not when I have a chance to unwind. Why do the bureaucracy gods do this to me?_

But…maybe it wouldn’t take long. He might just want to verify the game plan for their arrival in Alpha Draconis tomorrow. Despite her reservations about him on a personal level, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for his situation. Would their search lead to the _MSV Hugo Gernsback_ and his missing father? Could they hope for survivors, even after all this time? Or was the out-of-the-blue distress signal some kind of mechanical glitch?

 _If he keeps to that topic, we’ll be fine,_ she tried to convince herself. _Just don’t give him a reason to bring up Garrus. Or Thane. Or Tali. And don’t let him piss you off._

She forced something smile-like onto her face while making eye contact. “Sure, Jacob. Armory or my office?”

“Armory’s fine.” He took a step back as she stood, and they headed toward the elevator. Waiting at the doors, he shot an exaggerated glance toward life support. “You don’t get much down time, so thanks. I know I’m…cutting in and all.”

 _And there’s thinly-veiled xenophobic comment #1. Does he do it on purpose, or is he an accidental asshole?_ She pretended not to notice his reference to Thane and silently counted to ten in Japanese. Despite the many “make friends, not enemies” speeches she’d given Garrus, her own temper tended to flare when it came to Cerberus. Things with Miranda had improved after protecting her sister Oriana on Illium, but finding common ground with Jacob beyond their shared Alliance service was proving more difficult. His open dislike of both Garrus and Thane was a big part of the problem.

She strode into the elevator when the doors opened. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ll still have plenty of time to get caught up with Tali.” _Tali. Damn it, I just gave him an opening for thinly-veiled xenophobic comment #2._ The poor command deck button suffered a hard jab as it took the brunt of her irritation.

“Oh, yeah, Tali. I, um, might owe her an apology,” he muttered. “Throwing EDI’s AI status in her face right after she arrived…probably not a good move on my part.” He looked hopeful Shepard might let him off the hook with another casual dismissal. _Oh, hell no. Not gonna happen_. She simply gazed at him, impassive, though she had to admit privately to some surprise. _He’s willing to apologize? Really?_

A minute later, she leaned back against her preferred armory workstation, holding eye contact a little too long for casual conversation. When Jacob fidgeted in response, she finally spoke, trying for a neutral tone. “That first conversation with Tali definitely wasn’t your best moment. She’d just spent hours fighting geth, knowing good friends and colleagues were dying to keep her safe. Only one of her team survived. And it sounds like she has good reason to distrust Cerberus—reasons on top of what we encountered while we chased Saren. Yes, she was hostile, and I’ve talked to her about it, but you were hostile right back. And you should know better. I need more restraint from you than that.”

She continued in her sternest voice, some heat creeping in despite her best efforts. “I need this crew to get past all this Cerberus vs. non-Cerberus crap, Taylor. And you need to do your part. I won’t order you to apologize, because that would be meaningless. But I need you to think about the group dynamic we’re trying to build here and what’s at stake. Think about it hard, because I don’t want to hear you mouth off ever again at or about a team member, especially a non-human one. Cerberus’s ‘humanity first’ and ‘progress at any cost’ bullshit will not be tolerated on this ship. Every crewmember under my command has equal worth and deserves your full respect and cooperation. Is that clear?”

“Understood, Commander.” He stood fully upright, back and shoulders military straight, and she almost expected him to snap off a salute. “I admit I was out of line, and I will make it right. In fact, I asked you here to talk about another squad member I haven’t…welcomed the way I should.”

She crossed her arms as one hand came up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “This isn’t another complaint about Garrus and armory supplies, is it?” Mordin down the hallway could probably hear her frustrated sigh.

“Damn, I’ve really come across as an anti-alien jerk, haven’t I?” Jacob dipped his head and blew out a deep breath. When he looked back up he continued, “The turian and I are…fine now. He came to talk to me and we worked it out. Even discovered a few things in common. No, this is about…Krios.”

In a split second she was back to impassive. She gave him her best poker face, waiting for him to continue.

“You haven’t named a third member for our mission tomorrow,” he began. “And I want to request someone specific to join us.” He shifted uncomfortably and broke eye contact. “I’d like Krios.”

 _Thane?_ She tried hard to keep her jaw from dropping. “You want ‘that damn assassin’? The ‘precise mercenary’ you can’t trust at your back? Did I miss something? Maybe my recent concussion is causing delayed hallucinations. I think I need to see Chakwas.”

By this time Jacob was scowling. “Yeah, laugh it up, Commander. I already said I was a jerk and need to do better, so give me a break here.” She held up a hand and nodded in apology.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. “When Vakarian and I had our talk, I asked him point blank about Krios. He didn’t hesitate. Said there wasn’t anyone except himself he trusted more to have your back. I know you and the turian go way back, that you’re tighter than most families. Hearing him say it so plain, it made me rethink. I went back and rewatched some mission recordings, and Vakarian was right. Krios puts it all out there for every team member, every time. If you direct him to a sniper perch or other cover, he always follows your orders to a ‘T’, but otherwise he never holds back to keep himself safe.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “When Krios carried you to med bay after your injury, I could see that he’s…invested in this mission. This isn’t just a paycheck or a debt he needs to settle. Plus he’s got skills,” he acknowledged. “I don’t know what we’ll find tomorrow. Probably just some ghosts. But if we run into trouble, he can handle close combat or go long range. We could even combine our biotic attacks for extra damage. So, yeah, I want Krios. Will you ask him?”

“I’m impressed, Jacob.” She relaxed her stance and gave him an approving smile, wondering if she’d jumped the gun by lumping him in with his scummy boss. _Maybe I need to give that attitude adjustment lecture to my mirror._ “Admitting you made some mistakes and following through with better actions—those aren’t easy things to do. And wanting Thane on the mission tomorrow is a smart call. But, no, I won’t ask him.”

“With his oath and all, he wouldn’t even consider refusing if you asked him,” Jacob pondered, thinking it through out loud. “You want him to feel free to decline. And he deserves a chance to tell me to my face to shove off if he wants to.”

“Yes to all of the above,” she smirked.

“You know he’ll say yes anyway,” Jacob countered, “because he’s like Vakarian that way. If the turian isn’t along to have your back, then Krios will be there. On the rare occasions when you leave them both behind, they hunker down in the main battery and have EDI forward the feeds there.”

 _Really? That’s…interesting._ “And you still need to ask him yourself,” she insisted. “Building a better group dynamic, remember? If you’re going to grow into the kind of leader you’re capable of becoming, Jacob, then you need to do this. What’s more, you need to understand WHY you need to do this.”

“The leader I’m capable of becoming, huh?” he asked with a cocky grin. “Okay, I’ll walk you back to the elevator. You can get to that visit with Tali, and I’ll stop off and visit life support.”

“Good man.” She took a step closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “After you talk to Thane, consider joining me down in engineering for a chat with our newest team member. If Gabby and Ken are free, there might be even be some Skyllian-Five.”

_Well, shit. Maybe I CAN pull this crew together._

***

After the mission brief the next morning, her attitude was less rosy. “Damn, I hate sleeping this time of year,” she muttered in the elevator, rolling her neck and stretching her shoulder. _How can I feel this lousy after beating both Ken and Jacob at poker last night? But maybe EDI’s report on the latest scans was a good omen that the day will get better._

Arriving in the shuttle bay with her gear, she hesitated when she saw Thane already waiting near the Kodiak. _I really should have checked with him last night, made sure we’re okay. He was completely fine during the briefing, though. Maybe I should just leave things alone. If Haestrom still bothers him, he’ll bring it up, right?_

With that decided, she continued her approach. “Jacob isn’t here yet? I had to armor up after the meeting and was sure he’d beat me down here.”

He replied with a negative headshake and a small smile—a good sign, she figured, so she followed up. “While I have the chance, thank you for accepting his apology. I’m glad you agreed to join us.”

“His regret and desire to make amends seemed sincere,” Thane explained. She could hear the amusement in his lower register as he admitted, “And you knew I would not refuse the mission. Garrus would never forgive me if I turned down the third slot.”

 _And…here come the goose bumps. Fuck, what is it about that rumble?_ She laughed, in part because Thane’s dry humor always tickled her, but mostly in hopes of covering up that damn shiver reaction. Since her recovery, nearly any vibration could send her back to the memory of being carried in his arms, feeling his deep chuckle resonate from his chest through her body like small earthquakes.

Even more disconcerting, each shiver was joined by recurring visual flashes—lithe muscles, green scales, black stripes…and a bare shoulder she somehow knew was warm to the touch. But the fragments of memory, if that’s what they were, kept slipping away from her. _They can’t be memories…can they? He said my behavior that night didn’t include anything embarrassing—I was just sleepy and a bit giggly. But…Thane’s a considerate guy. He probably wouldn’t mention it even if I’d stripped naked and danced on the coffee table. I really hope I didn’t do something that bad. Or even less bad. Like confess I maybe want to see him without his coat._

_Damn, I need to stop thinking that. He’s my friend. I have no interest in ogling my friends._

_Do I?_

Thane stepped closer, apparently troubled by her distracted silence. “Shepard, are you well enough for this investigation? You led the mission on Haestrom less than 72 hours ago. You confronted a colossus—on foot—while still recovering from a serious concussion and the repairs to your leg. And now you’re leading another operation with a troubling number of unknowns. If you need a day of rest, 24 hours is unlikely to change whatever awaits us on the surface.”

With an effort, she dragged her attention back to the conversation. “Jacob might disagree with that assessment,” she sighed with a hint of irritation. “And we’ve already covered this, Thane. When I saw those geth signatures on the planet, I had to get Tali out of there. She may have been conducting research for her people, but she is still a member of my team, my…family. I could have lost her. She could have been GONE.”

The emotion thickening her voice felt too much like suffocation, making her pause to clear her throat. “So damn straight I led that mission. I would never ask my team to take on those kinds of risks in my place. And I’m fine now, leg included. Even Chakwas says I’m completely cleared for all duty.”

“I don’t wish to argue, Shepard.” Thane took another step and dropped his voice in both pitch and volume. “You know I respect your leadership and dedication. But consider: there is no Collector mission without you. I ask only that you shift some of the attention you focus on your crew to your own wellbeing.”

Those dark eyes, with their hint of green…and that something in his voice… . She fought off the urge to just sink into them and instead placed a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “I’ll try, Thane, I promise.” His eyes widened in surprise and she blushed, yanking her hand back. _Why am I embarrassed? I mean, he started it, touching my hand in life support the other night._

Stepping away in confusion, she cast a flustered glance at the elevator. “Now, where is Jacob? Those life signs EDI described in the briefing should have him eager to get going.”

“I believe he needed a few minutes of privacy, to take in that news and its ramifications,” Thane commented. “He’d convinced himself there would be no survivors, even though he felt compelled to search. The scans offer a chance that his father lives. And unexpected hope for a positive outcome can be more difficult to master than the certainty of loss.”

Her face was somber as she nodded, thinking back to the final topic of their recent chat. “Yep, you’re right about that. Hope sucks.”

He obviously wanted to follow up when the elevator doors opened. “There you are, Jacob,” she called, glad for the distraction. “Ready to head out?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Commander,” he replied. She watched, pleased, as he stretched a hand out to Thane. “And thanks again for joining us, Krios. I know you’ll be an asset, especially now that we’ve registered life signs down there.”

Thane accepted both the words and gesture with a grave nod. “I am honored by your trust.”

As they prepared for departure, her mind reviewed the gaps in their intel. “Is there anything else you can tell us about the _Gernsback_ , Jacob? Its mission, crew complement, what supplies it might have been carrying? Anything that could give us a better idea of what we might find down there?”

“My father didn’t talk much about his work. Resentment, I guess, at slow promotions and never making captain. But I did some research when I got that ping about the beacon.”

Once the shuttle was underway, he continued, “The _Gernsback_ was a commercial exploratory freighter, a big one, with a full complement of 180 to 240 crew. It was designed for fast travel and lengthy tours of deep space, sometimes as long as 3 years. Gives you some idea how often I saw my father as a kid.”

 _You keep harping on that, Jacob,_ she thought. _I’m guessing you’re not as over your dad as you think._

“Usually the vessel stayed in an assigned area of space,” he continued, “so it could respond quickly when newly-charted planets ‘with potential’ were reported. The idea was to swoop in and drop off a ground team to stake a claim, establishing a presence as fast as possible to shut out competitors, then hold the site until official planetary evaluation teams showed up. Any given tour, the crew might set up as many as five claims. All driven by corporations trying to score big money, of course,” Jacob scoffed.

“To answer your specific questions, Commander,” he concluded, “that’s what the _Gernsback_ was supposed to do here on Aeia before it disappeared. Typical research and grab operation, dropping off about 30 members of the crew planetside to begin assessing commercial worth. The ship carried the materials necessary to construct small, semi-permanent settlements, with enough provisions and medical supplies to support a full crew while in space and leave any settlements well-stocked. But when they went off grid with no distress call, the corporate owners decided Aeia was too remote to investigate.”

Thane’s disgusted rumble was clearly audible, and Shepard agreed with his judgment, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “So the owners were sons-of-bitches, though that’s not really surprising. But it’s significant that part of the crew was trained to handle an unexplored environment and make it livable, at least short-term. With luck, any survivors had access to that expertise and to the cargo meant for the claim sites. If anyone could be well-prepared for a shipwreck, these folks were it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jacob replied. “That’s the hope, anyway. But they also had access to communications equipment, from the settlement supplies and from the ship itself. If those are survivors down there, why aren’t we picking up comm signals? Why aren’t they responding to Joker’s hails? Part of me thinks we’re more likely to find slavers or scavengers than _Gernsback_ crew.”

“You might be right, and it’s smart to expect possible hostiles,” she commented. “We’ll find out what’s what soon enough. Double check your gear—we’ll be groundside in about 10 minutes.”

Once the team stepped off the shuttle, they couldn’t miss the remains of the huge vessel, about two hundred meters from the landing zone. At that distance, a large portion of the ship appeared intact, though sitting at a steep angle in the shallows near shore. Shepard stared at the wreckage, a frisson of unease jangling her nerve endings. She pushed it aside with a deep breath, moving away from the shuttle into a small clearing.

“Hard to tell from here,” Jacob said, “but a good number might have walked away from that, if they had time to get to stations and secure themselves. Maybe enough to fit the population estimate EDI gave us.”

“If there are 35 to 50 people here, none are nearby,” Thane replied. “My scans show no threats in the immediate area, Shepard. We are clear for now.”

“Thanks, Thane. The wreck is the obvious place to start. Let’s head out.”

As they walked toward the freighter, she took in the local environment. Aside from the crash debris, the shoreline looked like a nice vacation spot.

Thane seemed to be thinking along similar lines. “This climate is ideal for many sentient species. The plant life looks tropical, indicating limited seasonal variations in temperature. I wouldn’t be surprised if Terminus pirates have claimed this planet.”

She sent him a mischievous grin. “Pirates, huh? ‘Scaling rough and rugged passes, Climb the hardy little lasses, ’Til the bright sea-shore they gain!’”

“You’ve been eavesdropping on Mordin’s humming,” Thane smirked. “Gilbert and Sullivan, from _The Pirates of Penzance_.”

“Vakarian warned me about you two and this weird game,” Jacob huffed from a few steps ahead. “But you’re right, this place is a paradise, or seems like it. There are certainly worse places to fall out of the sky.”

Shepard stopped short, like she’d been hit. _Дыши, Морган,_ she exhorted. _Вы можете дышать._ Thane glanced back, brow ridge lifted in inquiry, catching her frozen and gasping. His eyes sought hers and suddenly she was in life support, suspended in that crystal-clear moment when he threw back his head and really laughed. She grabbed the memory and held tight, until her heartrate and nerves began to settle. _Okay, Morgan. You can breathe. No problem._

“Lots of worse places, like Xawin,” Jacob continued, unaware Shepard lagged a little behind. “Or any ice planet. I don’t like the cold.”

“Rakhana,” Thane intoned, watching as she made herself start moving. “It is almost entirely a wasteland now.”

 _Shit. Suck it up, Sunshine—you’ve already given Thane enough to worry about._ Jogging a couple of steps to catch up, she bumped him with her armored shoulder, the way she did with Garrus. She added a nod and smile, hoping to convince him everything was fine. He rewarded her effort with a small smile in return. _Good. Time to lighten the mood._ “Interesting candidates, you two. But the grand prize for most horrible shipwreck location has to go to…drumroll please… .”

Jacob and Thane both looked to her and said “Tuchanka” simultaneously. Thane’s smile grew a bit broader and Jacob grinned.

“Yes, Tuchanka wins that contest,” she laughed. “Just don’t tell Wrex I said that when we visit.”

As they drew closer, the damage to the freighter was more obvious and extensive. The lowest levels were crushed by impact and by the sheer weight of a ship never designed for a gravity environment. The most forward compartments, including flight and navigation control, were simply gone—sheared away, and not by the crash.

 _Fuck. Major hull breach in space. Probably some kind of collision or explosion as they approached the planet._ Such severe damage to the bridge meant casualties among the officers. No way around it. She figured Jacob and Thane must realize it, too, but no one said the words out loud.

Jacob poked at some equipment that had been dragged off the wreck and left on the beach, near an improvised gangway. “Well, at least some of the crew survived the crash,” he ventured. “They set up that access ramp and began stripping the ship. This is valuable stuff, though. Broken down and repurposed, it could have supported power generation, lighting, and who knows what else. Even if they didn’t need it right away, it shouldn’t be sitting out like this, unprotected and rusting in the sea spray.”

Shepard surveyed the tech strewn around them, eyes squinting in thought as she mentally catalogued. “Yeah, you’re right. Lots of usable material. Looks like they started to sort it into piles, maybe for transport, but then abandoned it. Like the survivors knew what they should do after the crash but then just…stopped.” _Which is really, really odd._ “But no one else has salvaged it, either, which probably means no scavengers or pirates.”

Thane looked up from his omnitool. “I believe you are correct—I see nothing that suggests such opportunists have been here. The beacon is close by. Not aboard the ship, but likely on the other side of the wreckage. I recommend accessing it before proceeding. It might provide some explanations.”

“Agreed. Lead the way.”

A humanoid projection came into view as soon as they rounded the hull. _Wow, male VI, like the one on Feros—don’t see those older models much anymore. Avina’s latest version is far more popular._ _At least the proximity trigger works—it’s launching ‘meet and greet’ mode._

“Toxicology alert. Danger of rapid neural decay. Local flora chemically incompatible with human physiology.” _Well, hello to you, too. How nice to introduce yourself with bad news._

“This tech is corroding, Shepard,” Jacob described as he circled the beacon, “and nearly overgrown by jungle creep. Looks like they set it up years ago. Why wait to signal?”

“Let’s see what it says before we speculate,” she advised. Thane stayed with her as she took the VI through all available prompts and Jacob further explored the beach. As they scrolled through the various reports, her instincts began whispering. Thane caught her eye and shared a troubled glance. _He feels it, too. This op is not going to be a simple search and rescue._

Setting up and programming the beacon had taken the survivors an unbelievable 358 days. _What the fuck?_ she wondered. _Pyjaks could have done it faster._ And it got weirder. For some reason, the finished beacon had been deliberately paused and kept from completing its protocol for more than eight and a half years. Authorization for the pause—and the eventual remote command for resumption—appeared to come from Acting Captain Ronald Taylor. He was also responsible for deletions from the official records that might have explained the interruption.

“That’s not right, Shepard,” Jacob denied, rejoining them at the beacon. “My father was first officer, not the captain.”

“According to this info, Captain Fairchild didn’t survive the crash,” she explained. “Your father was promoted under emergency procedures. That, some crash data, the disruption of the beacon’s protocol, and the toxicology alert are the only topics programmed here.”

She began pacing slowly, thinking out loud. “I don’t get it. It took them nearly a year to get this beacon set up. Why so long? And after that much time, why doesn’t the VI’s info include a settlement location or a comm channel for a local network? Or a complete listing of the dead and the survivors? Plus, all the entries we do have were made near the end of that first year. Why wasn’t the info ever updated during the 8-year pause or before the signal was finally sent?”

“Good questions,” Jacob acknowledged. “We need to find those answers. How much does the VI say about the toxic plants?”

“Enough that I really hope the survivors were able to retrieve the rations meant for the claim sites.” She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut as she described the findings. “Eating the local plant life, no matter what decontamination or preparation you try, causes long-term memory loss within a month. At that point, add in interference with cognitive functions—problem solving, reading, writing, computations, logic, higher-level reasoning. And the effect snowballs—the longer you eat it, the worse it gets. At least, that’s what the preliminary data here suggests. For some reason, the survivors stopped researching the problem.” _Hell. What shape are these folks going to be in after ten years?_

“Whether they’ve avoided that downward spiral depends on the math, I guess. How much salvaged food divided by how many survivors,” Jacob conjectured.

“The provisions lasting a full decade seems unlikely,” Thane offered. “The survivors must have worried about shortages early on. A cautious approach would have mandated extensive analysis prior to ingestion to ensure compatibility. That they chose not to wait indicates urgency—or desperation. And the information on long-term damage is significant. It implies at least some crew continued to eat the local plants after the decay was first noted. If rations had been plentiful, they would have switched back to them.”

Jacob looked like he wanted to argue, but Shepard nodded in agreement, glad to have Thane along. “The incomplete data collection on continued ingestion is troubling,” he resumed. “If provisions were indeed short, then abandoning that research was irresponsible. Continued work might have uncovered a solution…or at least the hope of possible reversal.”

 _Not just troubling—stopping that research is all kinds of wrong. I don’t like where this is heading. We need some physical evidence and concrete facts, fast—not hunches and conjecture. And I need to work off this creepy, itchy feeling between my shoulder blades._ “Maybe we’ll find some answers on the ship itself. Official reports, medical data, personal logs…if the equipment retains any power, that is.”

Thane checked his omnitool. “I’m picking up a life sign approaching the beach, still at a safe distance at the moment. Scans of the ship are clear, and the structure appears stable. Both options are worth investigating. Your choice, Shepard?”

She nodded toward the gangway. “Let’s check the ship first, but keep an eye on your readings, Thane. We don’t want to be surprised by visitors, even if they’re friendly.” _And I really hope they’re friendly. Please, pain-in-the-ass intuition—be completely wrong this time._

Once inside, crash damage restricted exploration by blocking movement between sections. She hoped the others failed to notice her silent relief when they gave up on accessing the remains of the bridge; she didn’t need more reminders of the SR-1’s destruction. In the limited search area open to them, they found only two malfunctioning terminals and a pair of datapads. Not much to go on, but the fragments still gave her an unexpected punch to the gut. Both Thane and Jacob wore closed-off expressions as they headed back outside, and she suspected the info was hitting them the same way.

“That was…unpleasant,” she admitted, trying to hold on to her temper. “We have a few things here that don’t make sense. Thoughts? Thane?”

“Based on the state of the interior, most supplies in the cargo holds were likely irretrievable—or required considerable effort,” he suggested. “But that doesn’t fully account for the delay in rendering the beacon operational. Even if the survivors’ only resources came from the abandoned tech around us, repairs and programming should have been completed within weeks, not months. Certainly not a full year. Why wasn’t the beacon a higher priority?”

“Must have been the neural decay,” Jacob offered. “If everyone started having significant problems within a month, then… . Wait, that doesn’t track.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. “If every survivor ate the local plants from the beginning, the beacon programming would never have been finished. Someone remained unaffected for at least a year.”

Her voice took on a harder tone as she battled her rising anger. “Going by the logs inside, a few male officers avoided the neural decay. The first entry indicated guilt and regret over how the neurally-compromised crew were being abused. He mentioned talking to ‘the others’ to try and stop it.

“The second datapad… .” She took a breath and clenched her fists, trying to focus on reason and logic. “That officer apparently enjoyed abusing women. He was glad the decay made his victims vulnerable, less able to defend themselves. So at least these two men and some unidentified ‘others’ had access to the ship’s food stores for some unknown time after the crash.”

“The doctor’s entry is puzzling,” Thane noted. “She was clearly suffering memory loss from the local flora. If enough rations were available for some officers to avoid the neural complications, why was the doctor—also an officer—consuming toxic plants? Who would allow the ship’s physician to become incapacitated? Such a decision serves no one.”

“I don’t know who,” she snapped, pacing back and forth, “but why is a damn easy guess.”

“What? That was just one officer, Shepard,” Jacob retorted. “And we don’t know who his victim was—or if he mistreated more than that one woman. We don’t have enough evidence to go where you’re jumping.”

She shot an irate glance at the former marine and took a step toward him. “You might not think so. But I do. The doctor was either a target of the abuse or a threat to stop it by figuring out the decay. So they used the local food to weaken her. Deny her the ability to fight back. That’s why the research on cumulative damage wasn’t carried out—because they chemically lobotomized their own doctor!”

Jacob went stock-still—predator still—and his voice made her want to check for frostbite. “‘They’? Sounds like you’re condemning every male officer for that one damn log. You can’t assume they all knew about the abuse.”

She crossed her arms in defiance and narrowed her eyes. _Is he really this thick?_ “How the hell could they miss it? Refusing rations to the doctor? That couldn’t have been a secret or unilateral decision. Plus the first log mentioned bruises—BRUISES, Jacob. Pretty clear visual clue there. ALL the officers had a responsibility to recognize that mistreatment. And a fucking duty to stop it!”

But for some reason they hadn’t stopped it…and she planned to find out why.

* * *

**Notes:**

“Дыши, Морган. Вы можете дышать” is Russian for “Breathe, Morgan. You can breathe.”

**Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


	12. Suffering and Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan wants to save all the Gernsback survivors, but Thane has doubts about her methods...and state of mind.
> 
> (This chapter continues an arc that covers Jacob’s loyalty mission and its repercussions. I’m therefore adding a TRIGGER warning: this and the following chapters in this story arc will make more obvious the non-con sexual abuse of the shipwreck survivors strongly implied by the in-game mission.)
> 
> Despite the publishing delay, this chapter picks up immediately after the end of Chapter 11.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for disappearing; life has been…interesting since the new year. Thank you for sticking with me! 
> 
> Since I last published, this fic has reached 1000 hits and over 80 kudos. And the feedback a number of you have given kept me encouraged even when life got tough. You’re the best.
> 
> Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
> 
> Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

Shepard continued to glare at Jacob, furious that he refused to stand down. _I’m right, damn it, even if he doesn’t want to see it,_ she seethed. _Something is really wrong here. Ces putain des cochons! They wanted free rein to abuse their crew!_

At the same time…how had she let this escalate so quickly? _Hell, Morgan—you know a face-off isn’t the answer. Jacob’s not the enemy. No more than Joker was when Thane got pissed._

She clenched her jaw and froze. For a long, tense moment, no one moved or spoke.

Thane stepped in front of her to break the impasse. “We have partial evidence a decade old. Our current focus must be the location and physical state of any survivors.”

She snorted, refusing to break eye contact with Jacob. Then something in Thane’s voice changed as he spoke to her directly. “Once we’ve accomplished that, Shepard, you can reassess. Decide then if any investigation or punitive action is appropriate.”

Her eyes shifted to his, seeing both questions and concern. _Fuck, what am I doing?_ She huffed in exasperation, gloved hands landing on her hips. With more than a bit of shame, she dipped her head, eyes dropping to the ground. _A mission on unknown turf—the worst time to get distracted by anything. Leadership 101, Morgan._

What really stung was knowing she’d let Thane down…again. Maybe she should have taken that extra day of rest—not that it would’ve mattered. _He’s going to think I’m a complete nut job._ Turning to walk a few steps, she took several slow breaths, muttering her mantra.

After a minute or two, she faced her team again, trying to sound calm. “Thank you, Thane. And Jacob…you’re right, and I apologize. We’ve got no hard intel here, just fragments and guesses. I can’t jump to conclusions.”

Jacob’s posture relaxed. “I gotta admit…you’re at least partially right, Commander. Those logs do describe abuse, no question. There’s no excuse or justification for it. I…I just can’t imagine the father I knew might have been a party to it.”

 _His father. The one we’re looking for. Shitfuckshit. Major compassion fail, Morgan._ “I think I understand, Jacob,” she replied. “I want to be wrong. I hope I am.”

“I hope you’re wrong, too. No offense.” He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “And speaking of ‘offense’…I’m sorry. I trust your instincts, Shepard—you’re as sharp as they come. You’re also a good commander, and I SHOULD know better than to question my superior officer. Just more of that Alliance training that didn’t take, I guess.” After a pause, he lifted his eyes and offered a hand.

“Appreciated,” Shepard murmured, taking it for a quick shake and release. She shot him a sheepish look, shrugging her shoulders to loosen the lingering tension. “I’ll try to do a better job deserving that respect. Meanwhile…keep being honest, make sure I’m looking at all the facts. I don’t mind differences in opinion—as long as we don’t come to blows over them.”

She dragged a palm hard across her forehead, shoving suspicions aside. “Okay, to business. Looking at the larger area around the wreckage, the survivors trampled a path to the northwest, up into the jungle. Thane, that was the heading when you picked up the life sign?”

“Yes, Shepard—from the northwest. Forward movement has ceased—perhaps it heard us—but something is still registering.” Thane seemed preoccupied, brow ridges furrowed, but the expression disappeared when he noticed her attention.

Shepard sighed. _Damn. Can’t believe I let a simple disagreement go sideways like that._ She knew it would worry him, especially during a mission. Which made the next topic even harder to discuss. She wanted to handle this mess a certain way—a way that threw Alliance regs out the airlock—and her team needed to be on board. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders.

“Alright. So we follow the path, see if that life sign is a survivor. Let’s say it is.”

Resisting the urge to tangle her fingers was hard. _Keep it together, soldier. Just state the facts._ “Based on the scans, we’ve got 40 people down here, ballpark. Hopefully survivors, eager for rescue. But the new data…that’s a big wrench in the works. We don’t know how many have been compromised by this neural decay—maybe most of them. And some have suffered additional trauma. We can’t predict how they’ll respond when they see other people—strangers—for the first time in ten years. They might get confused and run away from us. They might see us as threats and become aggressive.”

She took another breath, suddenly uncertain. _Am I still overreacting? Fuck, I hate second guessing myself… ._

“Like I said on the shuttle, we have to anticipate possible hostility. But I really don’t want to hurt these people. This situation is like Feros: a snafu that has caught innocent civilians in its nets. Firing on them is something I want to avoid. Even if they attack us. Even if they have weapons and fire on us. They’ve been through enough. These survivors all deserve to get off this planet, see if recovery is possible. Thoughts?”

“I heard what you did on Feros,” Jacob smirked as he rolled his shoulders and neck. “You love doing things the hard way. But you’re right; these people deserve a chance. Most likely they’ll all be fine with us appearing out of nowhere. Hell, they’ll probably be grateful. But if that’s not how it pans out, we should be able to pacify any hostiles that come at us in small groups. You and Thane can both use hand-to-hand to incapacitate without causing major injury. Me, not so much. A crowd that rushes us will mean trouble. And we don’t have weird gas grenades to help us out.”

“Your compassion does you credit, Shepard. But what you propose invites serious risk.” There was no trace of judgment from Thane—just a face wiped clean of expression. He hadn’t used that blank, unsettling stare for weeks. Not with her, anyway. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore her disappointment.

“A hostile group could be dangerous if you forbid recourse to lethal force,” he continued, voice neutral, even flat. “Are we free to use our own judgment if we’re outnumbered?”

She flinched at the phrase “lethal force.” Thane caught it, though Jacob seemed not to notice. _Well, you asked, Morgan. You know Thane’s too pragmatic to tiptoe—you wanted his honest opinion._

_Yeah, but why go all Mr. No Emotion? Wish I knew what his problem is. Unless…this is still about Sanctum and Haestrom. Him worrying about my safety. Thinking I take too many risks._

“You know me, Thane. My team is my family. Nobody’s expendable. Ever. Not you, not Jacob, not me. Our mission right now is to help these survivors, hopefully without inflicting harm. But we can’t help anyone if we’re dead. So you and Jacob protect yourselves, and we’ll all defend each other as necessary. Does that answer your question?”

Thane nodded in agreement, and she breathed easier as his expression warmed. “Yes, Shepard. And, if I may, there is a solution to our problem.” He looked over to Jacob. “Mr. Taylor, your biotic pull expertise is impressive. A controlled used of that power could guard our flank. Delay attempts to rush us in force. Then Shepard and I could neutralize even a sizeable group.”

 _He’s right. Careful biotics could be a game-changer._ She dipped her head toward him with gratitude. Thane returned the gesture, eyes crinkling just a little at the corners. _Good. Looks like we’re back on track._

“I can do that,” Jacob responded after a moment’s thought. “Yeah, that should work. And you could use throw the same way, Krios. But then what do we do with these hypothetical hostiles? Doubt they’ll be any friendlier after they wake up.”

“We’ll use what’s available,” Shepard said. _Thank God they said yes. That’s one weight gone. Well, almost. Good to know this plan isn’t as out there as I thought._ “We’ll disarm them, of course. We can…hmm. Let’s see… . That salvage pile over there—there’s tons of cabling. We can restrain them with that. Then…then use the gangway to get them aboard the wreck. Barricade the opening and we have an instant holding area. That should keep all parties safe, if needed.  

“Agreed?” she asked, further relieved to see their nods. “Good. Thane, I want you to take point. Lead us to the life sign while keeping our approach concealed. I don’t want to be seen until we know who or what we’re dealing with.”

He acknowledged with a slight bow…and a small smile. She felt no shame admitting Thane’s infiltrator abilities outclassed her own. _He’s been at it far longer, after all,_ she smirked. _And now our safety is at least partly in his hands. That should mitigate some of his concerns, help him feel more in control. Which is good, since his meltdowns make mine look amateur._

“Alright. Let’s go find some answers.”

***

Thane inhaled the heavy, salt air as he guided the team away from the wreckage. Fleeting wrinkles of distaste marred his nose. He longed for life support’s drier environment. The crash location bore a striking resemblance to Kahje on a rare sunny afternoon. While the reminder of home was welcome, the excessive humidity was not. But mild discomfort aside, one day in this climate would do no real harm. _No need to concern Shepard with it,_ he decided.

To be fair, the true discomfort wasn’t physical. Shepard’s conclusions about the _Gernsback_ officers were no doubt accurate. Her analysis—and anger—mirrored his own. And Jacob’s body language told a story his combative refusal did not. _Shoulders hunched, neck stiff with tension,_ Thane had noted. _He suspects. A father lost, estranged, guilty of terrible crimes. Could the son consider forgiveness for such transgressions? When none is deserved?_

His inner eyelids blinked several times. _Later_ , he reproached. _Meditate and evaluate later._

Thane continued forward with instinct as his guide. Deliberate footsteps avoided debris and unstable terrain. Sources of exposure or betraying sound. The task deserved his full attention…but his mind refused. _Shepard,_ he worried. _Something is wrong with Shepard._ Her odd distraction—so strange that morning on _Normandy_ —had worsened since they arrived. Her posture and body movements grew more tense by the hour. Even her usual humor felt forced, undermined by long periods of uncharacteristic silence.

Until the _Gernsback’s_ logs triggered a sudden eruption of anger. Not her occasional temper, but an emotion far deeper and more destructive. One he knew well. Rage. So consuming it eroded her judgment, nearly leading to an altercation with Jacob. Something the commander he’d come to know would never permit.

 _She’s been through a great deal in recent weeks_ , he considered. _Injury, recovery. Reliving her death. And yet…even when those events stirred fear, anger, they never produced rage. Certainly not the raw passion she just displayed._

Risking a shallow slip into solipsism, he searched for similar reactions… .

_…She sits rigid at the table before me. Vibrations of barely-suppressed rage mask the pain beneath. So much grief for her sister, her family. Her lost home. How has she carried this for so long?_

_…A furious, hate-filled voice spits Shepard’s name. Batarian. “She should be dead! Or in a slave pen. Or taking my cock like a good whore.” She trembles with fury, wants to break cover, to—_

— _So much blood. A thick sheen across her hands, arms, face. Gown torn, ripped aside. Oceans of teal beneath an obscene mask of red_ … . 

Thane stifled a gasp as panic and fury filled his gut. Threatened to take hold. _No. This is not the time._ Swallowing hard, he tightened his grip on his rifle. _Inhale, hold, exhale, again,_ he breathed. _Eliminate distraction. Reassert your focus. Irikah is at peace, but Shepard…struggles. You will not fail them both._

Glancing behind at her expression, a less experienced observer might conclude the situation had resolved. The outburst an anomaly to be forgotten. Shepard appeared alert, intent, calm. No indication of the turmoil within. Yet he knew this to be deceptive. _She’s suppressing it by sheer will alone,_ he judged. _Just as she did on Sanctum. Just as I do. But rage doesn’t vanish with a mantra or a handshake. It lingers, continuing to cause harm. How do I help your siha heal an invisible wound, Arashu?_ he fretted. _One she denies to others, to herself?_

Brow furrowed, he forced another flash of blood and teal from his mind. _Perhaps I should worry about my own control,_ he chastised. _Proximity to Shepard seems to challenge a lifetime of discipline. The revelation of Joker’s role in her death… . The shock, the fear in her voice as I stalked the room, aching for prey. For a means to vent the rage. Only her distress—the fact I was causing it—roused me. Reunited body, mind, and soul. Allowed me to resist the call._

 _Arashu, be my strength,_ he prayed. _I must do better. BE better. Failure to regulate these emotional responses…. It risks my support of the mission. Could undermine the fulfillment of her destiny._

Thane paused behind cover as the path broadened. A large, flattened expanse lay before them, littered with shipping crates. The area was highly exposed. A prime location for an ambush. They would need to approach with care. Eyes narrowing, he spotted their quarry—standing in the open.

Keeping one eye on the mark, he crouched beside the others. “Target 20 meters ahead. Human female. I recommend evaluation,” he whispered.

Shepard nodded her approval. “We’ll hold position.”

He drew his rifle in silence and peered through the scope, as if lining up a shot. The survivor seemed to be…looking for something. _Perhaps she heard the shuttle, the VI, or our voices,_ he speculated. Yet, her attempt appeared superficial, ineffective. Nearly…child-like. Thane tilted his head, puzzled. A _ge 30 to 35,_ he assessed. _Civilian work clothing. Unarmed. Excited…but not aggressive. Coordination poor—no indication of combat training. Minimal danger._

Lowering the rifle, he turned toward Shepard. “No obvious threat I can discern, and no other life signs nearby,” he murmured. “Approaching should be safe…but the possibility of neural decay adds a variable difficult to predict.”

“I agree,” she replied, voice low. “So let’s go slow. We don’t want to frighten her off. Holster your weapons, but stay alert. And I’ll take point, while you two hang back a bit.”

She leaned a little closer with a mischievous grin. “Especially you, Thane. I doubt she’s seen a drell before. And if her mental processes are compromised, she might spook more easily. Last thing we need is for her to run and panic the others.”

“Yeah, Krios,” Jacob added. “Don’t want you scaring women away.”

Thane refused the operative the satisfaction of a response. Instead he returned Shepard’s smile, head shaking in mock exasperation. Despite serving as the target for her teasing, he found the attempt at humor encouraging. It did little to alleviate his concerns…but he couldn’t deny a small amount of relief. Her logic was sound and demonstrated a reassuring return to more typical behavior.

“Well, here I go,” Shepard mouthed as she left cover. Thane extended an arm to hinder Jacob’s attempt to follow.

“Aw, come on, Krios. Lighten up,” Jacob scowled.

Thane arched a brow, working to suppress a smile. “No need to chase after the women, Mr. Taylor.”

“Well, well. So you do have a sense of humor.”

“Indeed.” Thane watched Shepard establish a sufficient lead and then dropped his arm. “Now.” He stepped forward at a relaxed pace, allowing Jacob to join him.

Eventually the survivor noticed their approach. As she startled and froze, Thane held his breath, praying his evaluation proved correct. Wishing Shepard had not ordered weapons holstered. If neural decay was indeed present… . There was no predicting how it might affect his ability to read the stranded crew. To anticipate their reactions. Images of Shepard in med bay rose in his mind, residual anesthesia hindering his assessment of her awareness.

The woman’s first steps in their direction were hesitant, then gained purpose. Eyes latched onto the commander with singular focus. Thane found the fixation disquieting. An indication of threat. His fingers itched for the security of a weapon. _Shepard blocks my line of sight to the survivor,_ he lamented. _A biotic attack will likely hit both._ One hand slid into his jacket for a throwing knife… .

“You came? From the sky?” _Breathless,_ Thane observed, _from lingering surprise or excitement, perhaps both. But no hint of hostility._ He left the knife in place.

Reassured as to Shepard’s safety, Thane paced a short distance away. Soon the woman began to recount her story. Shock at the beacon deployment. Abuses by the leader. Expulsion of the male crew. Subsequent rebellion. He observed Shepard’s reaction for a few moments as she took in the information. _Strong engagement in comprehending the survivor’s intel. Normal empathy present. No sign of anger or disproportionate response. Good._

Thane shook his head at what these people had faced. The woman’s fear was palpable. Evident in the rate of her carotid pulse, the tremor in her movements. And her communication difficulties confirmed the impact of neural decay. But her story also clarified that affected survivors—these “hunters—could be hostile. And dangerous. They would need to proceed with Shepard’s plan, despite the risks.   

The proximity sensor on his omnitool interrupted the exchange. Thane glanced down—activity near the tree line. Swiftly he scanned the area with his scope. “Shepard,” he warned. “Thirty-five meters west, exiting the jungle. Six human males. Armed. Body language less than welcoming—likely hostile.”

Shepard jerked in his peripheral vision before following his gaze. “Damn,” she muttered. Eyes narrowed as she verified the data, assessed the field, formulated a strategy. “Here, everyone,” she ordered, gesturing to a cluster of crates. “Single file, stay low.”

Thane’s lingering anxiety eased a bit more. This quick-thinking, decisive Shepard was much closer to the woman he knew. Once in position, he risked a glance over their cover, unsurprised by what he saw. These people were untrained. They approached their marks out in the open, under daylight and without cover. _What was the human phrase?_ he wondered. _Ah, yes. ‘Like a lamb to the slaughter.’ From one of their holy texts._

Recalling the quotation brought no satisfaction. _Coordination about as poor as the female survivor,_ he observed. _Likely incapable of tactical planning, without the ability to judge if they are outmatched. Do they even understand their own behavior?_

One hunter drew his weapon—an apparent signal—as the rest scattered and began shooting. _Shepard’s objective IS commendable,_ he admitted, closing his eyes with a sigh. _But these men threaten her safety. Her mission against the Collectors. Elimination would be easier. With far less risk._

“Neural decay doesn’t cover the reality of it,” he pronounced, watching Shepard push the female survivor to the ground for safety.

“Guess they aren’t feeling grateful after all,” Jacob joked. Thane narrowed his eyes and glared as the former marine pulled his heavy pistol. They faced debilitated victims of abuse; such a glib comment was in poor taste. “I’ll lay down covering fire, make them think twice about ganging up on you. If things get crazy, I’ll pull with my biotics. Won’t aim to hit with the gun unless I have to.”

Shepard responded with a terse nod. _Nearly hid her flinch that time_ , Thane noted. He continued to observe from his position on the right flank to her location on the far left. The tilted head and wrinkled brow showed her mind at work, evaluating the situation. Cataloguing information as puzzle pieces, shifting the data until a clear picture formed.

When she looked up to meet his gaze, gestures divided terrain and conveyed the plan: inland/north, wreckage/east, ocean/south, jungle/west. The three attackers on the southern edge of the expanse—spaced out over 15 meters from east to west—were hers, while he took the three stretched along the north. Mr. Taylor would stay with the survivor. Thane bowed his head in acknowledgement and awaited her countdown.

 _Arashu, guard your children. Protect the guiltless and vulnerable_ , he prayed. _Amonkira, guide my hands. Let me vanquish our enemies without a killing blow._

Shepard’s mouth formed zero. She disappeared, and he leapt into action.

The neural impairment made for easy prey; downing the first two hunters required little effort. Shepard’s movements were impossible to follow while cloaked, so he relied on sound. The solid impact of her blows. The grunts of falling men. Thane approached his third and furthest mark, near the northwest corner of the battlefield. Preparing to attack, his peripheral vision caught a flash of red armor…far to the southeast. _No, her cloak,_ he registered. _It’s too soon. Another enemy yet remains._

His target also noticed, panicking at the sudden appearance of a new opponent. _This mark must be subdued before I can assist,_ Thane conceded. A burst of speed moved him within striking distance. The hunter recognized the true danger too late, weapon unbalanced, lashing out. _Inexperienced_ , Thane admonished. _Incompetent_. He sidestepped with ease, disabling the target with a restrained blow to the temple. The man collapsed. Quickly Thane search the field for Shepard.

_…There. Nearly thirty meters on a diagonal._

She had lost the advantage of surprise. Her last mark waited, well positioned for an attack and taking aim. _No line of sight for throw_ , Thane realized, his heart pounding. _Arashu, protect your siha._

To his relief, Shepard rolled to avoid the shot. The hunter lost sight of her amidst the terrain—as did Thane, momentarily. He paused, breath held, tracking until she reemerged behind the target. Several fast blows and her final adversary was defeated. A quick vault over a storage container and she rejoined Jacob behind cover. Thane closed his eyes and exhaled a long sigh.

“Cover! New hostiles!” Shepard warned.

He swore under his breath. Fixated on Shepard, he’d failed to notice the arrival of four more hunters. Approaching from the west, they were nearing optimal firing range. Thane’s support was 30 meters away. He slipped behind cover just as the attackers opened fire—with shotguns. The crate shook under the first volley, shrapnel flying. It would not protect him long. _Sloppy,_ he berated. _Careless. Have I not learned distraction is unacceptable?_

He cringed, bracing for another round of blasts when Jacob interrupted over the comm channel. “No worries, Krios. I got this.”

The back surface of the crate began to dent from the impact of each round. Whatever material resided within was almost compromised. Thane hesitated. Prioritization of his safety would require violating Shepard’s directive. The Cerberus agent needed to act. “Perhaps you could work faster, Mr. Taylor,” he yelled.

“Comin’ right up. …Gravity is one mean mother!”

Gunshots gave way to confused shouts. Thane looked up, watching for confirmation of what he suspected would follow. Three of the new arrivals floated by his position.

It was enough to confuse the remaining assailant and create the opportunity Thane needed. _Disarm, defuse,_ he reminded. Biotics flaring, he threw the hunter off his feet, shotgun tumbling. Thane wasted no time. He hurled himself over the crate and closed on the target. Recovering the weapon, he stripped the clip and whipped the stock against the man’s head. _Unconscious_ , he confirmed. _Threat neutralized_.

Thane turned and began jogging toward Shepard, assessing the situation _. Obvious neural decay indicates she will refuse to draw her weapon. The enemy have shotguns. When the pull dissipates… . Those odds will be difficult, even for Shepard._ _And Jacob…is an unknown._ _Deficient in hand-to-hand. Emotional state, questionable. If he disobeys the directive…weapons fire into a group melee is perilous. Likely dangerous to Shepard._

He went from a jog to a sprint.

Halfway to his objective, a noise intruded. The groan of a rousing hunter. From the south. Location hidden among more crates and debris. “Shekk!” Thane cursed, diverting that direction.

 _Too compassionate,_ he frowned. _She checked too much of her power._ He passed one container, then another. Mouth pressed into a thin line, he glanced east and watched the pull break a few meters in front of Shepard. _Of course,_ he grunted. _Enough. This needs to end. NOW_.

Urgency grew by the second. A third crate, a fourth— _There!_ Still on the ground but aware…and reaching for his weapon. Desire to implement a permanent solution was overpowering. _Disarm, defuse,_ he chanted. Thane aimed a measured kick under the chin of his prey. The hunter crumpled. _At last,_ he thought with satisfaction. _Now to aid Shepard… ._

He jerked his gaze back to the east. Blue fire coiled around his torso, biotics prepared to strike. But…Shepard had the situation well-contained. One assailant already lay unconscious. The final two fell after a series of rapid hits, both graceful and effective. Thane unfurled his fists and blew out a frustrated breath. “Arashu be praised,” he rasped.

Without pause he scanned for additional life signs, relieved to find none. “We’re clear, Shepard,” he reported. Hastening back, he dipped his head toward Jacob. “My thanks.”

“Happy to help. You know, whenever you…older folks need a hand.”

“Said the fledgling after the experts managed most of the challenge,” Thane retorted. “I would be happy to instruct you in unarmed combat techniques upon our return to _Normandy_.”

* * *

**Notes:**

“Ces putain des cochons!” is French for “Those fucking pigs!”

“Shekk” is a drell term (of my beta’s invention) that serves as an angry/frustrated expletive.

**Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.**


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